


Slow Hands

by clottedcreamfudge



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: ASMR, Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things, Alec Lightwood is Good With Kids, Alec teaches archery and martial arts, Alternate Universe - Human, Archery, Bad Parent Robert Lightwood, Because have you seen her, Cat is an enabler, Coming Out, Fashion Designer Magnus Bane, First Kiss, First Time, First goddamn everything for our boy Alec, Good Parent Maryse Lightwood, Gratuitous use of italics, Hand & Finger Kink, It is very minor though, Java Jace Wayland, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Magnus Bane Deserves Nice Things, Magnus says Alexander a lot, Marathon Sex, Past Drug Use, Pathologist Izzy, Porn with Feelings, She does modelling on the side, Slow Burn, Someone's got to be the villain, Supportive Isabelle Lightwood, They are both Nice Things, Wall Sex, We're talking Season 3 levels of support from Maryse here, alec is into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clottedcreamfudge/pseuds/clottedcreamfudge
Summary: “I give you permission to woo my brother,” Isabelle says seriously. “Please. Do it for the good of humanity.” Magnus places his hands over hers, which are still gripping his shoulders, and stares back at her with an intensity he’s not sure the subject requires.“This is in the top five weirdest conversations I’ve ever had,” he says gravely. “But thank you.”➸Magnus is a fashion designer. Alec is decidedly not. Magnus thinks that, despite the fundamental difference in their wardrobes, Alexander Lightwood is a mystery he'd rather like to solve. Possibly with his tongue.
Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 159
Kudos: 605





	Slow Hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aussiebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/gifts).



The door to the apartment slams shut behind Magnus with more force than is perhaps strictly necessary. His door is eminently slammable - one of the reasons he took the apartment in the first place, for his sins - and today the almost hysterical laugh that bubbles up in his throat pairs perfectly with the senselessly teenage nature of the gesture.

Teenagers, he thinks to himself as he pulls off his coat and shoes, do not have the monopoly on bad days. Spontaneously growing facial hair and having overnight growth spurts can be trying - or so he seems to remember - but most teens probably don't have to deal with life- and show-ruining models like Camille Belcourt. He loves fashion with his whole heart, but to describe the industry as cutthroat would be as much of an understatement as saying that the Beatles were just a band from Liverpool.

Finding himself drawn to the kitchen and its many liquid wonders, Magnus carefully pours himself a glass of wine, stopping when the deep red liquid has filled the glass halfway. His day may have gone to hell in a handbasket, but he certainly won't be in a position to improve upon his failures tomorrow if he's harbouring a hangover. 

Also, this is a lovely Châteauneuf du Pape, and chugging it in a feverish state of self-loathing would be almost criminal.

He seals the bottle with a flourish, though there's nobody around to see it, and slides it to the back of the counter with a reluctant smile. The stopper is delightfully crude: a cartoon effigy balances in precarious freefall above the spout of the bottle, his disproportionately large member serving as both his point of balance and the actual seal for the wine. It is by far one of the best gifts Magnus has ever received, the ludicrous nature of its having been gifted to him by Raphael making it all the more precious.

Camille would have hated it, he knows. She would have said it was tacky and juvenile. Camille can, incidentally, go straight to hell. In fact, they've probably missed her down there while she's been up here trying to ruin Magnus's life. Again.

He takes a calming sip of wine, and then another, just for luck. The third sip is really more of a gulp, which he feels is warranted.

The problem with Camille - or certainly one of the top ten, as his issues with her are numerous and complex - is that she can get under his skin like nobody else. She is also, Magnus thinks bitterly as he throws back his sheets to climb (still mostly clothed) into bed with his wine, very beautiful. Externally. On the inside he imagines her as one of those hellish Catholic tableaux of torture and suffering; all writhing, tentacled demons and cats painted by people who had never before in their life seen a cat.

As though sensing somehow that Magnus's thoughts have turned in a vaguely feline direction (demonic imagery aside), a chirp from the doorway signals the arrival of Chairman Meow. He requires little prompting beyond a whispered "my darling boy" before he's tucked into Magnus's side, curled into a purring mass of tabby fur and satisfaction. Magnus runs a finger softly over the downy fur between the Chairman's ears before taking another fortifying mouthful of wine and dragging his laptop over from its precarious resting place on the side table.

He knows that, as wonderful as Chairman Meow and this particularly fine French vintage may be, he's going to need a bit of encouragement to get to sleep with the aggravation humming just beneath his skin.

Perhaps he should be concerned that, as a 32-year-old man, he doesn't immediately bring up something he will be deleting from his search history afterwards. While a quick orgasm would certainly help him drift off, he has neither the energy nor the inclination for such an activity - and he doesn't want the Chairman judging him. Their relationship is built on trust, tinned tuna, and Magnus not masturbating while he’s in the room. They have an arrangement.

Bringing up YouTube, he scrolls mindlessly through some of his bookmarked ASMR videos, but none of them quite take his fancy tonight. He searches through them for a while, clicking on his favourites and seeing what suggested videos pop up on the right; clicking on those and seeing where _they_ take him; on and on until he's finished his wine and the Chairman has grown tired of the soft slide and snick of the touchpad, slinking off to the living room in a huff.

He's about to give up and fall back on the familiar crutch of a quick release when he spots something. He leans in a little closer to the screen, squinting at the thumbnail, and his mouth goes a little dry - though that could be the wine. He clicks on the video, waiting the scant few seconds for it to buffer before making it fullscreen.

It's a music video - not an official one, not as slick as the description would suggest; rather, it is a man and a guitar, and even that description requires Magnus to make a few passing assumptions. Nothing is in view but the guitar and the hands plucking the strings, but… by the gods. _What hands_.

Magnus would do some very questionable things to take the place of that guitar.

A tune - something low and pleasantly familiar - swells from the laptop's speakers, and Magnus is transfixed. The hands would be enough, he thinks, swallowing dryly - strong, large, distractingly capable - but the addition of the man's voice elevates the visuals from beautiful to mesmerising. He moves the laptop over to the empty side of the bed, shuffling down beneath the duvet and twisting so he can lie on his side, watching clever fingers strum effortlessly at taut strings.

He's made a mistake, he realises; this is so far from being a relaxing video he suspects he'll be awake for hours.

In actual fact, he falls asleep between one breath and the next, and has enough presence of mind when his alarm drags him from sleep at 6am to bookmark the video.

➸

“Camille’s done _what_?” Maia hisses, enraged, as Magnus sticks a few pins strategically into the material around her waist. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.” Magnus shakes his head with a frown, pulling the final two pins from between his lips and sliding them into place before standing again.

“Sadly, while you know I love a practical joke as much as the next man, Camille’s dramatic flight the day before the show is not my idea of a jape,” he says gravely. Maia grimaces.

“Is there anyone else who can wear those designs?” she asks, letting herself be steered towards a screen in the midst of the backstage bustle to _carefully_ remove the dress she’s wearing for final alterations. Magnus sighs, feeling a little world-weary, then helps Maia out of the midnight blue silk and taffeta creation before handing it off to one of his assistants, Elias.

“Nobody here is close enough to her measurements,” he says with a frustrated huff, waving Elias off and then flopping dramatically into an overstuffed armchair. He has several of them dotted around, just in case he needs to make a scene; he has a reputation to uphold, after all. The second people find out he’s a reasonable human being, he’s done for. It’s not the done thing in these circles. “I really don’t have time for those kinds of mass alterations. She was meant to be wearing four pieces and the show starts in six hours.” Maia slumps down in a chair next to him, seemingly unconcerned by the fact that she’s in nothing but a vest and underwear - fairly par for the course with the models Magnus uses in his shows. He very rarely hires anyone who doesn't look and act as though they could eat him alive.

“What about Izzy?” she asks suddenly, throwing him a questioning look. Magnus frowns again (which he should really stop doing, he’s going to prematurely age himself), but a bubble of what feels a lot like hope blooms in his chest.

“Isabelle? They do have similar measurements I suppose,” he muses, before sagging a little further into his chair with a beleaguered sigh. “But she’s in the final year of her PhD, I’m sure she’s run off her feet at the moment. No, we’ll just have to drop those outfits from the show - it’s not the end of the world.” Camille had, of course, ensured she had the best of his designs fitted to her frame, but the show must go on.

Maia snorts derisively and shakes her head, then leans across the space between the two chairs to pull Magnus’s phone from the depths of his burgundy blazer pocket. Before he can even protest, she’s turning the screen to face him, Isabelle’s contact information already pulled up and waiting for him to press the call button.

“I would ask how you know my password,” he says drily, taking the phone back from Maia’s hand and pressing his thumb reluctantly to the green circle, “but I suspect you won’t reveal your methods.” Maia mimes zipping her lips and a smile forces its way onto Magnus’s face as he puts the ringing phone to his ear. A lot of people on the circuit criticise his casting choices when it comes to choosing models for his designs (too short, not skinny enough, too _not white_ ), but frankly Camille is the only one who’s ever disappointed him. Maia is a gem.

 _“Mr Bane, to what do I owe the pleasure?”_ Isabelle’s voice is slightly tinny, but bright and warm nonetheless - Magnus’s smile widens a little at the sound.

“Miss Lightwood - or is it Doctor Lightwood now?” He knows it’s not - not yet - but the tinkling laugh he gets in response is precisely what he was aiming for.

_“A few months to go until I receive the honour, Magnus. How are you? I haven’t seen you since that party with the uninvited strippers.”_

“To be fair,” Magnus says levelly, “they weren’t very good strippers. And if people will leave first floor windows wide open during a party, they must expect the occasional gatecrasher. And subsequent police involvement.” Isabelle laughs again, and he relaxes a little further into his chair; he sees Maia wander off out of the corner of his eye. 

He can but ask.

“I’m sure you’re plenty busy at the moment, darling, but a certain someone - naming no names - has decided to drop out of this evening’s show with a handful of hours to spare. I know you’re more than just a pretty face and a shockingly good pair of legs, but I will pay you an unreasonable amount of money if you’re willing to step up to the plate, as it were.” The answer is instantaneous.

 _“For you, Magnus? Absolutely. I nearly threw down with my tutor today and I could do with feeling like a queen for a couple of hours anyway.”_ Magnus’s grin is wide and unshakeable now.

“You are truly an angel. I’ll have one of the peons draw up a quick contract for you to sign - how quickly can I drag you away from your responsibilities and into the dazzling spotlights of the Hotel DuMort?”

_“I can be there in half an hour - on one condition.”_

“Name it.”

 _“I’m technically babysitting my brother-”_ This sentence is cut off by a low, enraged voice in the background growling _“Izzy”_ , but she continues regardless, sounding unaffected. _“Okay, I dragged my big brother on a shopping trip, and if I let him out of my sight he’ll probably get on the subway and disappear back to his apartment before I can force him to buy some new shirts. He’s never come to one of these things before and it might be good for him to see people wearing colours. In the wild.”_ Magnus distinctly hears a man saying _“there’s nothing wrong with black”_ in a vaguely petulant tone of voice.

“The more the merrier,” he replies with a wave of his hand. Izzy can’t see him doing it, but he doesn’t feel quite himself without the odd grand, sweeping gesture. “I owe you my life, Miss Lightwood.”

 _“I’d settle for you teaching my brother how to dress,”_ she responds drily, and after a quick goodbye, she’s hanging up the phone. Maia reappears, as if by magic, now wrapped up in a thick quilted dressing gown.

“Does it ever concern you how right I am all the time?” she asks conversationally, sipping daintily from a bottle of water and looking better than anyone in a quilted dressing gown has any right to.

“Provided I can get into your good graces now, your inevitable rise to power and dominion over all things does not faze me, my dear.”

“Dominion over all things?” Maia says contemplatively, cocking her head to the side with a slow smile. “Does that come with free city parking?”

➸

Isabelle arrives half an hour later, as promised, and Magnus drops what he’s doing in a heartbeat to embrace her. She’s dressed down by her usual standards, though still breathtaking in tight blue jeans and some kind of plunging blouse that shows off her lovely bone structure and flawless skin to full effect. She is, of course, wearing dangerously high heels, though Magnus is absolutely certain she could still outrun a gazelle in them.

“Isabelle, I owe you my life,” he repeats gravely “Also, quite possibly, my first-born child. The second I renege on the deal I made with myself never to love again, I’ll get started on production.”

“Anything for the best dressed employer I’ll ever have,” Isabelle says lightly, squeezing him back before stepping away with a grin. He smiles back at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Darling, given those drab lab coats and plastic visors you all have to wear, I’m hardly even sure that’s a compliment.”

“Don’t give her ideas,” a dry voice says from over Isabelle’s shoulder. “The faculty have had to replace her lab coat three times already this semester for health and safety infractions.” Magnus turns towards the speaker and finds himself suddenly unable to take in an adequate amount of oxygen. The frenetic pace of show prep around him fades into insignificance - an impressive feat given the low-level anxiety usually curling in his gut round about now.

This must be Isabelle Lightwood’s brother. The man is tall, though he holds himself in a way that suggests he _knows_ he’s tall, and would prefer to be less so. Magnus imagines he receives quite a lot of attention, but that he isn’t fond of it, which is a pity because this particular Lightwood is the most beautiful man he’s ever seen; the fact that he’s clearly uncomfortable with being looked at is an absolute tragedy. His dark hair is tousled, though not artfully, and Magnus gets the sense that he both dresses and prepares himself for the day with a practical, utilitarian effort that shouldn’t provide nearly as overwhelming a result as it does. Few people, Magnus has found in his life, are this unintentionally attractive.

He vaguely hears Isabelle introducing the man as Alec, and all Magnus can think is how he’d very much like to be screaming that name later this evening. And possibly in the morning too. Also, every day for the next century.

“Delighted to meet you, Alec,” he manages somehow, holding out a hand and regretting it almost instantly when Alec hesitantly takes it in his. His hand is warm, his grip firm, and the handshake is sadly - but probably wisely - short. Magnus is almost annoyed by how nice Alec’s hands are, and he tries not to look at them for fear that they will be as distracting to view as they are to feel. “Short for Alexander?” Alec takes his hand back with a frankly adorable wrinkle of his brow, but he gives a small nod.

“Usually only when I’m in trouble,” he admits, and Magnus is absolutely _certain_ Alec didn’t mean it the way Magnus immediately decided to take it. Drawing on a well of propriety he didn’t even know he had, he smiles at Alec (the slight blush that this brings to the other man’s offensively nice cheekbones doesn’t go unnoticed) and turns back to Isabelle.

“Well, now I feel terrible,” he says breezily, placing a hand on Isabelle’s arm and leaning in very slightly, allowing his smile to morph into something a little more private. “I didn’t bring _you_ anything.” The blinding grin he gets in return is enough to confirm that Isabelle Lightwood is not only beautiful, but also at times a literal ray of sunshine. He allows his gaze to slip momentarily over to her sullen brother, and is gratified to see that the flush is spreading down his neck now.

He needs to buy Maia something really lovely. Perhaps a Porsche.

“I did hear you say something about paying me an unreasonable amount of money to look pretty,” Isabelle says with a raised eyebrow.

“That I did,” Magnus admits, turning back to Alec with another smile. “Alexander, please feel free to take a seat while I have your sister read through the proposed contract. If she’s happy with the extortionate amount of money I’m willing to throw at her for saving my ass, we’ll be back with you shortly. In the meantime, I hope you’re comfortable with casual nudity.” Alec looks _stricken_ at this comment, about ten seconds from defensively gouging out his own eyes, no doubt, and Magnus is disgustingly charmed by just about every aspect of his response.

“He means the models, Alec,” Izzy says with something approaching a snigger, punching him on the arm. Alec relaxes fractionally, grimacing at his sister and folding his arms across his delicious chest, as though being naked might somehow prove infectious. Magnus can’t help but laugh, just a little, at how out of place Alec looks in the sea of bright silks and bold asymmetry around him.

“While I’m not at all averse to handsome men taking off their clothes in my presence...” Magnus says, letting his eyes trail over strong thighs and firm biceps without shame. “I was indeed referring to my models.” He pauses, then adds, “in this specific instance.” Alec doesn’t seem to know where to look, settling on a huffy eye roll that does nothing to hide the insistent flush on his cheeks.

“Are all fashion designers this… cryptic?” he asks, sitting down stiffly in a chair, arms still folded. There’s a blatantly unintentional upward curve to the corner of his mouth though, and Magnus waits a beat - until Alec’s gaze is on him again - before winking.

“I’m not being cryptic - I’m being coy. _Distinctly_ different energies, darling.” Then he loops his arm through Isabelle’s and leads her off to sign the necessary paperwork, vowing to do whatever it takes to keep that pretty blush on Alexander’s face for as long as possible.

➸

“So, your brother,” Magnus says slowly while Isabelle is skim-reading her contract; the look she gives him has him grinning unashamedly. “Oh please, Isabelle! You know I can’t resist a good mystery. Especially one with a mouth like _that_.” Isabelle snorts out a laugh, pulling a pen towards her across Magnus’s makeshift desk and signing both copies of the contract with a flourish.

“My brother invented being repressed,” she says drily, sliding one contract back towards Magnus and stowing the other in her purse. “It’s on his resume, above ‘weirdly good at grilled cheese’ but below ‘horribly touch-starved’. I don’t even know for sure which way he swings, to be honest, so have at it - but it’ll be like flirting with a brick wall.” Magnus hums thoughtfully as he stows away his copy of the paperwork; he wouldn’t usually go near ‘touch-starved and repressed’ with a ten-foot barge pole, but Alexander… Well, let’s just say he’s intrigued.

Also, all this blushing? Extremely telling.

“In that case, we should probably rescue him from the twin horrors of partial nudity and feather boas - both of which have no doubt been foisted upon him,” he says with a heavy sigh. Isabelle takes his arm again after performing a mocking curtsy, and they make their way back into the fray.

Alexander is precisely where they left him, and there’s a rigidity to his spine and shoulders that says he has seen _too much_ in a _very short space of time_. 

“It’s clear from the set of your impressive jaw, Alexander, that my warnings were not quite adequate.” Alec looks up with a start from where he’s staring at his knees, as though they’ll stop him from seeing anything untoward. Magnus can only assume that, as far as Alec’s concerned, this includes underwear, any bare skin at all, and possibly even a well-turned calf.

“People here are very… free,” he says eventually, voice somewhere between disapproving and reluctantly impressed. Magnus laughs.

“No, my darling - the people here are _very_ expensive. Trust the man who signs their paychecks,” he says, releasing his hold on Isabelle’s arm so that she can run hell for leather towards Aline, another of his models and - if memory serves - a good friend of Miss Lightwood’s. This is confirmed by the high-pitched squealing from both women as they embrace, Isabelle’s heels giving her an unfair advantage over the already petite woman wrapped in her arms.

Knowing Aline’s proclivities as he does, Magnus is quite certain she’s delighted with the opportunity to be eye-level with Isabelle’s cleavage.

Magnus looks back at Alec and once again finds his lungs struggling to cope. The fond look on Alexander’s face transforms him from untouchable but striking to softly beautiful; he’s almost angelic in his appreciation of his sister’s happiness. It’s unbearable.

“So, Alexander-” and at the sound of his name, Alec’s eyes flick almost guiltily back to Magnus’s, like being caught basking in the happiness of his loved ones is somehow shameful- “what is it that you do when you’re not being dragged around Brooklyn by your delightful younger sibling?” Alec is surprised by the question, if the slight upward tick of his eyebrows is any indication, but the taut lines of his shoulders relax incrementally.

“I teach martial arts and archery at a local Academy,” he says with a half shrug, not enough inflection in his words for Magnus to parse whether or not he likes his job. Then Alec rolls his shoulders, and a fond little smile comes back to his face as he glances over at his sister. “Izzy’s the smart one. People don’t realise it because of how she looks, but she’s going to rule the world someday.” Magnus’s heart stutters slightly when Alec lets his face relax into a crooked half-smile, as though nothing could make him prouder than his sister’s meteoric rise to world domination.

Oh _hell_.

“I can absolutely believe that,” Magnus says softly, and then Alec is looking at him and _into_ him, hazel eyes deep and unimaginably soulful; his gaze feels heavy and warm, and the moment stretches on for several long seconds before it’s broken by the clack of Isabelle’s heels.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asks shrewdly, eyes on her brother as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat and rolls his eyes. Before either Magnus or Alec can answer - Magnus is sure he could have come up with something pithy that would give rise to another of Alec’s quite lovely blushes - Elias rushes over with an armful of outfits and Magnus abruptly remembers where he is.

“I’m sure I can find time elsewhere in my schedule to gaze longingly at your brother’s cheekbones,” Magnus allows, taking the pile of fabric from Elias and avoiding the no doubt horrified look that Alec must be giving him. “Isabelle, my dear, I’m afraid in order to retain your tenuous top spot as my favourite Lightwood, I must now ask you to take off your clothes.”

Okay, _now_ Alec looks horrified.

➸

Alexander, to his credit, is an outrageously good assistant. It’s all hands on deck in the final hours running up to the show, and Magnus really only has the time to focus on the final alterations required for Isabelle’s wardrobe; he finds that Alec is remarkably good at predicting his needs, which has his heart beating double time in his chest, warming his bones. A bottle of water appears at Magnus’s elbow before he realises he’s thirsty, and he never seems to run out of pins like he usually does.

Isabelle, by far the chattier of the two siblings, explains that Alec regularly wrangles large groups of teenagers with bo staffs, so models are hardly worth mentioning. He also helped raise her and their other two brothers from a very early age, apparently; Magnus tries not to think about how adorable that is, because it’s making it hard to focus on not stabbing Isabelle in the thigh with an errant pin. The Lightwoods’ parents were - _are_ \- difficult people, Isabelle says, and their federal government jobs take them away on business with inevitable regularity. It happened when they were kids too, and Alec was always the one to ensure everyone was fed and watered and tucked up in bed before nine.

“I didn’t really _do_ much,” Alec argues, passing Magnus a seam unpicker the moment he even _thinks_ about needing it. “I mean yeah, if I’d left you and Jace to look after Max you’d have killed him with E-numbers from the start, but… You can’t feed a baby Kraft mac ‘n’ cheese, Iz. Common knowledge.”

“If he’s not helping someone or shooting arrows, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands,” she teases, ignoring Alec’s complaints even as he gives her the finger. It is an inappropriate time to be assessing the man’s hands, but since they’ve been mentioned - and Magnus is nothing if not a shameless opportunist - he does it anyway. They’re sinfully nice, all broad and capable and just… handing Magnus things that he needs. It’s awful.

Alec is also, Magnus cannot help but note, patently uninterested in every single half naked woman who walks past them. Maia sashays past their little group no less than four times in an attempt to attract his attention, then grins at Magnus when he gives her a slightly mutinous look. He supposes he can’t blame her for trying.

“Incorrigible,” he mutters, then thinks about people in glass houses, stones, and whether or not he should be throwing them.

He finishes the necessary alterations with half an hour to go before showtime, which must be some kind of record.

“Well, I like the thrill of a deadline as much as the next man, but I will perhaps avoid cutting it _quite_ this close next time around,” Magnus admits, stepping back to admire his handiwork. The final dress - and the first in the show - is now complete, and Isabelle wears it like a queen. The flowing fabric is a rich turquoise, and fine, painstakingly hand-stitched designs are embroidered on the arms and bodice in gold thread; they catch the light with every slight movement of Isabelle’s hips, which effectively turns her body into the mirror image of a waterfall. There is the suggestion of a cape sweeping over one shoulder, and Dot - Magnus’s favoured stylist - has arranged Isabelle’s hair across the other shoulder, shimmering threads of gold throughout her dark curls providing symmetry to the outfit. The only reason it wasn’t Magnus’s favourite piece before was because it had been on Camille; it now easily takes top spot.

“What do you think, big brother?” Isabelle asks with a grin, shimmying her hips a little and laughing at the effect under the backstage lights.

“You’d look good dressed in a trash bag, Iz,” Alec says matter-of-factly, but his face softens into a grin almost immediately. “You look amazing, obviously. It’s - um.” He looks at Magnus, then looks away again. “It’s a really nice design. Colourful.” Magnus has certainly heard worse compliments - and from much less attractive people.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says with a small bow. “We’ll make a fashion critic of you yet.” Isabelle’s answering snort and Alec’s (noticeably pleased) eye roll are all the responses he gets before Elias - alight with frenetic anxiety - comes to spirit Izzy away for the show. The second she moves away, her face takes on the haughty, untouchable look Magnus knows all too well and his heart swells with affection. He’d forgotten how good she is at this, in all honesty; lots of people are good-looking and wear a dress well. Isabelle Lightwood _sells_ it.

“Thanks for - you know,” Alec shrugs, waving a hand in the direction of his sister and not making eye contact. “Thinking of her, I guess?” Magnus raises his eyebrows in silent question and Alec notices this when he finally deigns to meet Magnus’s eyes, before his gaze skitters away again like a frightened animal. “Her tutor was a dick today,” he says frankly, and his candour startles a laugh out of Magnus. “Forcing me into _Modern Anthology_ usually helps, but… This is better.”

“For you or for her?” Magnus asks, curious. A wry grin passes across Alec’s face.

“Both of us. I don’t have to go shopping, and she doesn’t have to stop me murdering Raj.”

“How noble of you,” Magnus says with a smile, trying to tell himself that a beautiful, toned man declaring his willingness to kill for his sister’s honour isn’t hot at all. “Isabelle is an incredible woman, and I have no doubt that anybody making her feel like she _isn’t_ is more than deserving of retribution.” Alec nods in mute agreement.

The models are being ordered around by Elias now - this is the bit Magnus hates, so he’s always happy to delegate. Izzy, proud and shimmering, is leading half of her cohort to one of the wings, head held high. Magnus really can’t imagine anyone getting away with beating her down.

“Raj, um-” Alec stops, and there’s a tension in his jaw that speaks of gritted teeth and familiar frustration. “He asked me out once. He was pretty persistent, even after I… Well, even after I told him I wasn’t interested.” Magnus finds himself wondering if Raj has a surname, and if he might like to be punched in the face by an angry, glittery fashion designer. “He takes it out on Izzy, sometimes. I’ve told her to take it to the Head of her department, but she’s too stubborn. Thinks she can take it.”

“I’ve no doubt she can,” Magnus says carefully. “But that doesn’t mean she should have to.” Some of the tension leaves Alec’s shoulders at that, and he unfolds his arms, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.

“No,” he agrees. “It doesn’t.”

Then the show is beginning in earnest, and Magnus is being called forward to say his piece and announce his new collection. He says all the right things, as usual, gets a laugh from the crowd, makes sure the photographers and journalists only get his good side, and then retreats to the wings as his models - and friends - take the stage.

Magnus’s shows don’t take long, in the grand scheme of things, but his heart remains firmly lodged in his throat for the duration, not settling back into his chest until everyone has once again congregated behind the curtains and begun to remove their makeup and slip out of mile-high shoes for the final time. The hushed conversations here are barely audible over the excited energy of the crowd beyond, and once Magnus has graced the stage one final time, dutifully thanking those attending to tumultuous applause, he’s delighted to find that Alec has not yet left. He’s back in the same chair from earlier, presumably waiting for Isabelle to return to a marginally less eye-catching state, but Magnus lets himself pretend for a moment that Alec is there for him instead.

“Alexander,” he says brightly, adrenaline and fondness coalescing into something warm beneath his ribs. “How was your first experience of a Magnus Bane fashion show? Dare I hope you might attend of your own volition one day?” Alec looks up and a smile flashes across his face, replaced only seconds later with something a little more unsure.

“Izzy looked great,” he says finally, folding his arms again like he’s shrugging on armour. “Everyone did. You’re… You’re very talented.” It’s said without a hint of artifice; a simple, if faltering, statement of fact. Magnus is, in all his foolishness, nonetheless overwhelmed.

“Thank you, Alexander,” he says fondly, and perhaps a little _breathlessly_ , truth be told; Alec meets his eyes in surprise, and there’s that tension again. He can’t assume it goes both ways, of course, too used to thinking the feelings in his own lungs and heart are mutual and being proven wrong -- but oh how he _wants_ to.

“I feel amazing,” Isabelle says with a sigh, appearing from somewhere or other in her jeans, blouse, and stilettos, fresh faced and beaming. The tension, if it had been anywhere except Magnus’s head in the first place, dissipates, and Alec stands and turns to her with an easy smile. She sweeps him into a fierce hug, which he reciprocates with a faux-frustrated huff of breath, and she lets him go with a laugh a moment later. “I feel like I could kick my tutor into space right now,” she says, a little giddy, and Alec snorts.

“So _I’m_ not allowed to kill him, but you are?”

“Yep,” she says, popping the ‘p’ with an unapologetic gleam in her eye. She turns to Magnus and suddenly she’s grabbing his arm and towing him away, shouting “hold on just one sec, big brother” over her shoulder as she marches off. Alec, nonplussed, is quickly rendered invisible to Magnus’s eyes as Isabelle pulls him through the maze of clothing racks, coming to a standstill in their midst. 

“Is this because I insinuated I had a new favourite Lightwood?” Magnus asks, slightly uneasily. “Because I’m willing to pretend your brother isn’t a walking wet dream if it will mean you don’t murder me among my own creations. I was hoping to take up drugs when I’m ready to go and die of a suitably dramatic overdose while I’m still beautiful.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Izzy says with a look of slight wonder on her face, ignoring Magnus’s completely reasonable fears for his life. “But I think my brother may be less of a brick wall than I thought.” Magnus stares at her for a moment.

“Pardon?” he says eventually, because she might not be planning to kill him, but those heels look very sharp and it’s always best to be polite if you’re not sure. Isabelle huffs and puts her hands on his shoulders, looking at him with an unnerving intensity.

“Alec was in the wings the entire time. Whenever I wasn’t on stage, do you know where he was looking?”

“For an escape route?” Magnus guesses, eyebrow raised. She rolls her eyes and Magnus briefly wonders if the other two Lightwoods are this perpetually sarcastic. 

“He was looking at _you_ , Magnus.” Isabelle’s eyebrows are doing something complicated and mildly threatening, as though this will help him to understand her. He thinks he gets what she’s saying but, given the adrenaline come-down he’ll no doubt be suffering through over the next ten minutes, the chemical soup in his brain could be hindering his thought processes. Best to clarify.

“Your brother - the one who doesn’t know what colours are and who, and I quote, ‘invented being repressed’ - was looking at me? That brother? Was it a look that said, ‘please stop trying to tempt my virginal body with your dastardly bisexual ways’?” Isabelle laughs in spite of herself, then looks slightly concerned.

“To be honest, I think someone _needs_ to tempt him with their dastardly bisexual ways. He’s 23, I’m pretty sure he’s never had sex, and I think he’s convinced himself that’s not going to change.”

“I volunteer,” Magnus says cheerfully, because he’s not blind, and also because something settled in his chest the moment he laid eyes on Alexander, though he isn’t sure what it was. Something small and undefined alighted on his bones; something that said, ‘ah yes, there you are’ and then made itself at home in the spaces between Magnus’s ribs.

“I give you permission to woo my brother,” Isabelle says seriously. “Please. Do it for the good of humanity.” Magnus places his hands over hers, which are still gripping his shoulders, and stares back at her with an intensity he’s not sure the subject requires.

“This is in the top five weirdest conversations I’ve ever had,” he says gravely. “But thank you.”

Alec is still looking a little bemused when they come back to him, and he raises his eyebrows at Isabelle in a silent question. She appears to answer with her own eyebrows, and Magnus watches with mounting amusement as they have a thirty second conversation based entirely on minute fluctuations in their facial muscles.

“This is fascinating,” he says finally as Alec huffs and rolls his eyes, fixing Isabelle with a glare. “I understood precisely _none_ of that, and I speak four languages.” Alec’s gaze flickers over to him in surprise, then his mouth turns up at the corners.

“ _Mi hermana y yo nos vamos ahora_ ,” Alec says, one eyebrow raised, and Magnus is abruptly aware that Spanish is a very sexy language. He didn’t used to understand the appeal, honestly, but with Alexander’s mouth moving round the vowels, he’s a convert.

“ _Si, el español es una de las lenguas que hablo_ ,” Magnus responds drily. “Thank you for checking.” Isabelle’s tinkling laugh is back, and she moves forward to wrap her arms around Magnus’s torso, obscuring whatever complicated expression is passing across Alec’s face.

“If you need me to look pretty in-between my work changing the face of the pathology world, give me a call anytime,” she says warmly, stepping back out of reach and punching Alec in the arm. “Say goodbye, big brother.”

“Ow,” Alec deadpans, glaring at her, before sighing and turning back to Magnus. “Thanks for letting me stay. It was…” He gestures vaguely, before shoving his hands back in his pockets. Sighs again. “Enlightening?” Magnus lets a smile spread, slow and warm, across his face. There’s a minute hitch in Alec’s breathing, perhaps; a dilation of the pupils almost impossible to notice if not for the fact that Magnus is _looking_ for it.

“I’m all for enlightenment, Alexander.” 

➸

The evening directly after a successful show is always both wonderful and exhausting. Magnus never attends the after-parties; he worries that Chairman Meow will get lonely, and he’s also a little bit tired of having to turn down offers of drugs every ten minutes from people barely out of their teens. He’s been there, he’s most certainly done that, and he decided very early on that the dubious excitement of a week-long bender was nothing compared with the comfort of his silk sheets and a bottle of red.

The problem, of course, is that there are _already_ drugs in his system. His body has provided him with enough adrenaline to power a small city, and it’s 2am before he even finds himself capable of staying still long enough to consider his bed.

He strips to his briefs, wipes off his makeup, and brushes his teeth; the minutiae of his evening routine help to calm him, bringing him down from the lofty highs of a well-planned show gone right. By the time he’s settled into bed, the bedside lamp casting a soft, sleepy glow on the golden sheets, his body is beyond ready for sleep. His mind, on the other hand, is playing over every second of his interactions with Alexander, which is incredibly unhelpful.

He reaches for his laptop, determined that - no matter how attractive Alec’s mouth may be - he is not going to jerk off to thoughts of some poor repressed twenty-something that he met less than 12 hours ago. No - he’s going to watch a stranger play guitar for as long as it takes to get to sleep, and then he is going to wheedle Alec’s number out of Izzy as soon as he wakes up tomorrow. As plans go, it is indistinct, but he’s oddly determined to do the right thing by Alexander.

And the right thing would _not_ be to masturbate to thoughts of the man’s infernally gorgeous eyes looking up at him from beneath thick, dark lashes.

Magnus takes a shaky breath and pulls up YouTube with renewed determination. He finds the last guitar video and navigates to the user’s profile. He clicks on a video at random - still just those confident, broad hands and the strings of a guitar - and lets the music wash over him.

It takes a little longer this time around, but by the time the third video in his queue is playing, Magnus is out like a light. He dreams, and forgets the content almost instantly upon waking.

➸

Magnus wakes late - something he does often, and over which he has stopped feeling any guilt - and situates himself on a bar stool with an obscenely large mug of coffee before unlocking his phone. His background is a picture of chairman Meow with his claws lodged in Ragnor’s thigh; the fact that he managed to capture such a beautiful and unplanned moment between his oldest friend and his cat always brings him immense joy.

[To: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:31]

_Isabelle - light of my life. Might I gently and hesitantly suggest an exchange of information?_

[From: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:31]

_What r u going 2 give me 4 Alec’s digits_

[To: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:32]

_Perspicacious AND beautiful. Darling, the world isn’t ready for you. There are very few things I would not exchange for your brother’s digits, but I was rather hoping I could start with taking his phone number._

[11:33]

_I have much information to give, of course - name your price._

[From: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:35]

_Terrible joke. Srsly. Wish i’d made it 1st urgh_

[11:36]

_Tell me how the strippers got in that 1 time. I no u were involved_

[To: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:38]

_A price I am all too happy to pay! The person throwing the party was an old rival of mine - Lorenzo, if you recall the odious man - and he’d been talking all evening about how much classier his parties were than my own extravaganzas. Naturally, that meant I had to order in some particularly poor strippers and blame it on the open windows._

[11:40]

_Not sure how I got away with that one, actually. I’m not terribly fond of lying, and strippers do not usually come in through one’s open windows without provocation. I do not believe for a second that Lorenzo believed it was an accident, but by that point I was already hiding behind the pool house and calling the police._

[From: Isabelle Lightwood] [11:42]

_So worth it omg_

The next text Magnus receives is a cell phone number, which he immediately saves under ‘Alexander’ in his contacts. He successfully fights back the urge to add several heart emojis after the name, because he is a responsible adult, and also because he knows that his terrible, no good friends have absolutely no compunctions about going through his phone when he’s drunk. He would rather not give them ammunition.

Instead, he sends a string of hearts back to Isabelle, before locking his phone and jumping down from his seat.

One cannot seduce beautiful, stoic archers on caffeine alone.

➸

[To: Alexander] [12:30]

_Have you ever considered modelling as a career choice, Alexander?_

Magnus spends almost half an hour composing this text, which is - he’s willing to admit - kind of pathetic. He’s delivered pithier, more seductive one-liners to people who only interested him half as much, usually after several pitchers of margaritas - though perhaps liquid courage is a little much to be relying upon at this time in the day.

Once the text is sent, he forces himself to put his phone on the bed and go take a shower; he’s not going to sit around in his underwear waiting for a response from a cute boy. He’s 32 now, it would be shameful.

It’s still probably the quickest shower he’s ever taken.

When he gets back to the bedroom - still dripping wet, having strolled _incredibly_ casually from room to room as though he had something to _prove_ \- the flashing light on his phone tells him he’s got a text message to read. He closes his eyes, takes a fortifying breath, and turns to the wardrobe instead, ignoring the urge to immediately seize the device in favour of browsing his collection of brightly coloured silk shirts.

The text might not even be from Alec. It could be from Raphael, somehow sensing his deep and tragic crush on a white boy and wanting to make his opinion known. It would not, Magnus thinks as he applies a sweep of kohl to his eyes, be the first time.

It could even be from Ragnor, which would be worse because he’d just be so _drily supportive_ , Magnus thinks with a shudder as he dabs something shimmery and gold to the creases at the corners of his eyes. Magnus considers himself blessed to have such excellent friends, while simultaneously cursing their profound and accurate judgment of all his choices.

He has, he supposes, made some reasonably _bad_ choices, in his time.

Chairman Meow watches from the doorway as he gently towel dries his hair, head tipped back slightly in haughty condescension.

“Not a word,” Magnus says sternly, before - finally - picking up his phone and unlocking it.

[From: Alexander] [12:35]

_Magnus?? What am I saying, of course it’s you._

[12:36]

_I would be a terrible model. Also I have a career. One where I get to shoot things. Which makes it better than most jobs._

Urgh. Magnus had suspected that Alec was quietly funny - in a self-deprecating kind of a way - but to have it confirmed isn’t helping matters at all.

[To: Alexander] [12:45]

_Right in one, Alexander! In some fashion circles you’d be encouraged to shoot your arrows, though I get the distinct feeling that’s not what you meant. Surprised though you may be to hear it, however, I didn't mysteriously obtain your number in order to text you lewd archery puns._

[From: Alexander] [12.47]

_There's nothing mysterious about Iz meddling in my life, Magnus. But I'll bite - what's up._

Really now, Magnus thinks, trying not to focus too hard on the delightful image of Alec's teeth sinking into his shoulder. The boy really is making it too easy for him.

[To: Alexander] [12.48]

_Careful, Alexander... I may hold you to that - such promise. It's a Saturday, I'm free, and I'm in great and dire need of caffeine and company. I trust you can fill in the blanks._

[From: Alexander] [12.50]

_… Java Jace. You know it?_

[To: Alexander] [12.51]

_Know it?? I had a marvellously public breakup there not a year ago, darling. One of the waitresses gave me a free almond croissant after I got slapped in the face, and it was so life-alteringly good it healed my bruised face and ego in one fell swoop. I was reborn a better man._

Alec doesn’t respond immediately, but Magnus forces himself to be patient; it does not come naturally to him. He is not, and has never been, the pinnacle of virtuous morality.

He wanders through to the living room and puts his phone down on the coffee table after a couple of minutes. He then forces himself to do what he's been putting off for several weeks and cleans the kitchen, just for something to do with his hands. It doesn't take long - the kitchen being both small and rarely used - but it passes the next fifteen minutes or so in a blandly useful sort of way.

When he picks up his phone at gone quarter past one, he has a relatively clean kitchen and a text from Alec. One of these is more exciting than the other.

[From: Alexander] [13:07]

_Clary - bit of a bleeding heart. Probably didn’t occur to her that you might’ve deserved it._

[13:08]

_Meet me there in half an hour if you find the croissants so alluring._

Magnus responds with a single exclamation mark, which he hopes puts forward everything he isn’t saying: “it’s not really the croissants drawing me in, Alexander”; “your dry humour is killing me very slowly in the best way”; “I definitely deserved that slap but I’m afraid to admit that in case you think less of me.”

The exclamation mark will have to do, he thinks. Then, grabbing a light jacket from his coat rack, he waltzes out the door just moments later.

➸

When he arrives at ‘Java Jace’ twenty minutes later, he’s surprised to see Alec chatting to someone behind the counter; the titular Jace, Magnus vaguely recalls as he pushes the door open and enters the shop. The place is a glorious mishmash of overstuffed armchairs, battered barstools, and tables of wildly varying heights. It’s warm to its core, this place, and Magnus is startled to find he’d forgotten.

Alec’s back is mostly to the door and he’s leaning over the counter very slightly, angled towards a grinning Jace, a half-smile on his own lips as he talks. The redhead who once gave Magnus a pity croissant is steaming milk with practised ease, occasionally interjecting with a snort of laughter or an incredibly chirpy comment; Alec invariably responds with an eyeroll, but Jace’s adoration for her is as clear as day in the widening of his smile and the crinkling of his eyes.

Something Alec had said yesterday comes to mind, and the tableau in front of him suddenly makes a lot more sense.

_“...if I’d left you and Jace to look after Max you’d have killed him with E-numbers from the start…”_

Then this must be-

“How the hell did you manage to get my brother to leave the archery range on a Saturday?” Jace yells across the bustling cafe; the place is full, but nobody even looks up from their conversations. Clearly the patrons are used to Jace’s particular brand of management. Alec straightens up and turns to face Magnus as he approaches the counter, face morphing from surprise into something soft but otherwise unreadable. “Tell me - is it witchcraft? Sorcery? Dark demonic forces?” Magnus grins.

“Trade secret, I’m afraid,” he says with a put-upon sigh, before he sharpens his gaze. “Although I’m intrigued to know how you learned of my involvement, since you seem to recognise me. Given that I haven’t been here since Imasu tried to ruin both my face and my stellar reputation with the flat of his hand, allow me a moment of selfish curiosity.”

“You got a croissant out of it,” Clary pipes up from the coffee machine, shooting him a blinding grin before turning back to her work. Magnus ‘hm’s appreciatively.

“That I did, biscuit. And a very fine croissant it was too.”

“Alec’s been describing you in technicolour detail for the last ten minutes,” Jace barrels on as though nobody else has spoken, twirling a sharpie between his fingers with a truly devilish grin. “It wasn’t hard.” Alec makes a noise like a wounded animal and reaches across the counter to punch Jace in the bicep with a force that has the blonde wincing.

“Shut up and stop being weird,” Alec says flatly, though Magnus is delighted to see a blush rising in his cheeks. “If that’s something you’re capable of,” he adds darkly. Jace snorts out a laugh, though he’s rubbing his arm absentmindedly with the hand not twirling a pen; Magnus suspects Jace would rather disembowel himself than admit he’s bruising beneath his Henley.

“Nothing weird about stating cold, hard facts, brother,” Jace says with a wink, turning back to Magnus. “What can I get you?”

“Whatever over-caffeinated drink you’d recommend, provided it has enough sugar to repel even the most incautious of toddlers,” he says seriously, and Jace rips off a mock salute before grabbing a cup and scribbling on it, quickly passing it to Clary, who’s already holding out her hand to receive it. Magnus taps his card against the reader to pay and watches with growing fascination as Jace and Clary wordlessly hand each other the necessary tools and ingredients they each need, moving seamlessly in each other’s space.

“You might regret that,” Alec says lightly, and Magnus turns away from the strangely intimate display with a sunny smile.

“In my industry, Alexander, one must have a vice. Drugs are just so _horribly_ boring, so I’ve opted for a surplus of sugar and a very expensive dental plan.” Alec smiles, seemingly in spite of himself, then shakes his head as they both move to the end of the counter; a couple more people have just entered the shop and while Magnus won’t deny that he enjoys being the centre of attention, he’s not actually barbaric enough to keep anyone from their caffeine fix.

“No, I mean you might end up on the receiving end of one of Jace’s experiments,” Alec says, elbows on the counter, back ever so slightly bowed in an elegant arc. One of his hands is splayed out, fingers tapping out an unsteady rhythm. His sleeves are pushed up to the elbows, displaying his strong forearms to truly delicious advantage, and his hair is just as distractingly out of order as it was yesterday. Magnus is beginning to wonder if one of his more enterprising friends has written up a list entitled ‘50 Things That Drive Magnus Bane to Distraction’ and posted it on some kind of public forum. Alec has to _know_.

“Experiments?” he prompts, and Alec is opening his mouth to answer when two drinks slide into place in front of them. 

“Black coffee, no cream, three packets of sugar you’re going to pretend you don’t want,” Jace recites to Alec, eyes glinting a little in the overhead lights. Alec takes his drink with a wordless nod of thanks then gestures vaguely to a nearby table.

“I’ll be, y’know - there.”

“I could locate you in a crowded ballroom with my eyes shut, darling,” Magnus assures him - and if _that_ doesn’t earn him a blush and a half, in spite of the mute eye roll that accompanies it. Jace cackles as Alec pushes off from the counter, drink in one hand, sugar packets conspicuously disappearing in his wake. “And what delightful beverage am I to be consuming today, oh fair proprietor?” Magnus asks, turning back to Jace.

“This,” he says with a kind of grave pride, “is an iced honey chai latte with whipped cream and honeycomb caramel. It will give you cavities just to look at it. Not to brag, but this might well be my greatest creation to date.” Magnus is impressed.

“How humbling,” he comments, taking the concoction with a slight bow of his head. “Though I have no doubt I will regret this at 2am when I vibrate out of my skin and leave this realm entirely.”

“Hey, you asked for sweet,” Jace says with a lazy smile and a shrug.

“That I did,” Magnus replies solemnly, stepping away from the counter to join Alec with his deeply cursed drink. The face Alec makes when he sees what’s in Magnus’s hand is nothing more or less than complete horror.

“You’re going to die,” Alec says with a grimace, drawing his own cup a little closer to himself as though to protect it from the evils of Magnus’s beverage choices.

“I should hope not,” Magnus says breezily, sliding into the chair opposite him and reclining comfortably into the truly gigantic cushion the seating provides. “I have many dramatic deaths planned, and none of them involve caramel.” Alec raises his eyebrows, a flicker of concern quickly melting into a narrow-eyed suspicion.

“None of them?”

“The list is ever expanding,” Magnus confesses, taking a sip of his drink through the straw provided and making a noise of delighted confusion. “It pains me to admit it, but this is actually very good.” Alec gives him a look of mingled disbelief and pained amusement.

“Come again?”

“That would require me to have come already, Alexander, and as much as your bare forearms might have me swooning like a Jane Austen heroine, I’m just not that easy.”

Magnus feels a little bit bad about just how much of his coffee Alec immediately inhales down the wrong pipe at that comment.

“Do you need a napkin? Heimlich manoeuvre?” Alec holds up his hand in a universal ‘shut up and give me a minute’ gesture, and Magnus subsides, holding back laughter in what he feels is an admirable show of restraint. A wad of paper towels appears on the table in front of them a moment later, and Magnus glances over at the counter where Jace is punching the air triumphantly. 

“ _Touchdown_ ,” he hisses victoriously, before Clary elbows him in the stomach with a sickly sweet smile, inclining her head towards the small queue of customers waiting to be served. When Magnus looks away from this absurd diorama, Alec’s choking has subsided and he’s dabbing at his shirt with the paper towels, looking faintly murderous.

Or that could just be his default expression. Frankly, it’s sort of doing something for Magnus. He’s a little concerned.

“So that’s a no to the Heimlich manoeuvre,” Magnus says lightly, and is horrified by the tumbling somersault his stomach attempts when Alec’s face twists into an expression of wry amusement.

“I’m fine,” he says eventually, and the slight rasp of his voice is unfairly attractive, given that he got it by inhaling his coffee all wrong. He is also, Magnus thinks, absolutely correct; Alexander Lightwood is undeniably fine. “Wearing black has its advantages, I guess,” Alec continues, making a vague sort of gesture at himself. Magnus takes a moment to appreciate the way the damp patches of fabric cling slightly to Alec’s torso in places, humming in vague agreement.

“Still, perhaps I should keep my cruder impulses under control until you’ve become acclimated to me,” Magnus says drily. Alec looks at him with a furrowed brow.

“Is that what this is?” he asks, indicating the coffees in front of them. “Acclimation?” Magnus smiles slowly.

“Darling, this is _coffee_.” Alec rolls his eyes with a huff, but the corner of his mouth twitches into a reluctant half-smile, and Magnus is enchanted. This can only end badly.

➸

Magnus eventually manages to tear himself away from Alec’s undeniably magnetic presence, but not before Jace forces another free croissant on him for the road.

“Alec had a good time,” he says as he shoves the paper bag into Magnus’s arms, shrugging. “He’s not great at making time for people he’s not related to. It’s nice to see him laugh.”

Because Magnus _had_ made Alexander laugh - an utterly gorgeous thing, all warmth and light and _surprise_ , as though Alec hadn’t been intending to make a sound and had been caught unawares by the force of his own amusement. Magnus’s heart had lurched painfully in his chest, gossamer threads of connection coming sharply into focus between one breath and the next. Alec is all frowning contradictions and potential, and the stab of want low in Magnus’s gut is as inevitable as the sunrise.

“Jace, I know at least twelve ways to kill you,” Alec says with grim sincerity, as though this will distract everyone from the flush creeping down his neck.

“I don’t usually find threats of violence hot, but today has been full of surprises,” Magnus says breezily, taking the croissant with a nod of thanks and standing from his chair. Alec’s blush is making an admirable attempt at reaching the very tips of his ears when Magnus turns to him. “Alexander, it has been an absolute delight. I take full responsibility for the state of your clothing, though I would prefer to be uttering those words under entirely different circumstances.” Alec actually closes his eyes for a second at that, clenching his jaw.

“Not yet acclimated,” Alec reminds him through gritted teeth while Jace laughs his way back to the counter.

“Sorry,” Magnus says with a grin that no doubt suggests the exact opposite. “We should do this again sometime. Perhaps dinner? Although if your third and final sibling is in attendance, I might start to think you’re not allowed out without a chaperone.” At this, Alec shoots a dirty glare at where Jace and Clary are quite _clearly_ eavesdropping on their conversation. Then he sighs and folds his arms across his chest, leaning back in his chair.

“Dinner sounds good,” Alec says finally, and Magnus feels a little tension drain out of his own shoulders.

“Lovely - I’ll text you. Goodbye, Alexander.” He reaches out and brushes a hand across Alec’s shoulders as he goes; Magnus doesn’t think he imagines Alec’s shiver, the way he very slightly leans into the touch.

Brick wall _indeed_ , Isabelle.

➸

[From: Alexander] [23:46]

_Sorry, I know it’s late. Just wanted to check you were joking about planning your own death. Don’t want to see you on the news in the AM._

Magnus stares at the text for a solid five minutes before he realises what Alec’s talking about. When he _does_ remember, he chastises himself; he forgets, sometimes, that his sense of humour can be as dark as it is lewd, on occasion, and Alec has no way yet of knowing that. Magnus had been so comfortable with him, toning himself down in any way hadn’t even occurred to him.

[To: Alexander] [23:53]

_Is this about the caramel conversation? Because I would like to reassure you that I have no intention of taking my own life, darling, with or without the involvement of confectionery._

[23:54]

_Your concern is a balm to my soul, however. Thank you for checking on me._

[From: Alexander] [23:54]

_Okay. Goodnight Magnus._

[To: Alexander] [23:55]

 _Sweet dreams Alexander_.

That night Magnus barely has time to choose a video before he’s nodding off, the strains of something sweet and Spanish providing a lush backdrop for dreams of hazel eyes and promisingly broad hands.

➸

Magnus texts Alec every day after that. It’s usually stupid stuff like _“if one more crusty old newt of a human being makes a comment about the size of my models, my next collection is going to be called ‘the body mass index is a lie and so is your wife’s regular appointment with her masseur’”_ and _“tell me how many children you pretended got the better of you in your classes today, I need a pick-me-up”._

And, even once: _“Do you ever think about people who’ve hurt you and hope they’ve fallen down a well somewhere and broken their ankle, or is that just me?”_

He’d worry about coming off a little clingy (revealing too much of himself, coming on too strong – his usual MO), but Alexander always humours him.

[From: Alexander] [13:42]

_Crusty old newt? That’s new. I don’t think anyone sensible trusts BMI. Or masseur appointments._

[From: Alexander] [09:03]

_Magnus it’s barely 9am. I haven’t had any classes yet._

[09:04]

_Yesterday it was three kids though. Don’t tell Izzy._

[From: Alexander] [00:09]

_Some people forgive and forget, I guess. I don’t know… I don’t like a lot of people. But it’s not just you._

[00:15]

_If you let me know their social security numbers, I can probably make it happen though._

A week and a half after their first meeting, earlier on a Wednesday morning than Magnus would even usually be up, he’s about to text Alec something dumb about the weather (bright, sunny, woefully inadequate when compared with the warmth of Alexander’s ridiculous brown eyes) when there’s a knock on his apartment door. This is not in and of itself unusual; Magnus has had a door for quite some time now - most of his life, in fact - and the simple fact of door ownership is that they are often knocked upon. He is not, however, expecting anyone to do so today.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks, he pads over to the door - bare feet almost soundless on the wooden floor - and looks through the peephole.

 _“Candygram,”_ a voice says brightly from the other side. With a long-suffering sigh, Magnus peels himself away from the door and unlocks it, swinging it open with a narrow-eyed glare.

“I could have been _sleeping_ ,” he says loftily, before he’s being pulled into a hug by a tall, dark-skinned woman, the abundant mass of her braided hair immediately threatening to consume him. 

“Let the boy breathe, Cat,” says another voice, gruff and amused, and the arms around him loosen slightly as the woman pulls away.

“Catarina, Ragnor,” Magnus greets, allowing himself to smile at them both before his eyes drift to the third attendee. “And Raphael! To what do I owe the pleasure? On a sunny Wednesday morning, no less, when I could be sleeping in or perhaps taking one of my many lovers to bed?” Raphael shakes his head, looking vaguely revolted as he closes the door behind them all.

“I did not want to be here,” he says plainly, but he follows them all into the kitchen readily enough, taking a seat at the island and linking his fingers together on the countertop.

“We did have to cajole him a little,” Catarina admits, taking the seat next to Raphael with a grin, Ragnor hopping onto another stool with a grunt of annoyance. Magnus flicks the kettle on then leans back against the other countertop, facing them all with an eyebrow raised.

“Cajoling _anyone_ was entirely unnecessary. Do any of you own phones? Not that it isn’t _lovely_ to see you all, but I was planning on a day of hedonism and debauchery.”

“No you weren’t,” Ragnor says shrewdly. “You were going to have at least two naps and lose the day, like always.” Magnus rolls his eyes, turning to get four mugs from the cupboard to hide his smile. He’s right, of course. Magnus hasn’t been that person in a long time, really, and Alec has made it all the more difficult to remember the side of himself that had even a passing interest in blanket hedonism and debauchery.

Not that he’s going to tell _Ragnor_ that.

“So, who’s this new man in your life?” Cat asks, and the sharp twirl Magnus executes to face them all again is as telling as a neon sign spelling out _‘RIGHT ON THE MONEY’_. They’re all grinning. Well, Cat and Ragnor are grinning; Raphael still looks like he would prefer to be literally anywhere else, but the slope of his mouth is very slightly turned up at one corner. That’s as close as Raphael gets to visible enjoyment of anything.

“I bought a new mirror recently, if that’s what you mean,” Magnus says calmly, as though pretending he doesn’t know what they’re talking about has ever worked before. It hasn’t, of course, and it doesn’t work this time either.

“While we know the cognitive dissonance between your vanity and self-loathing is truly impressive, you are _well_ aware we are talking about-”

“Your embarrassing crush on a white boy,” Raphael interrupts Ragnor peevishly. Magnus groans.

“You know, I knew you’d say that. I _knew_ it. Maybe I just like having a friend who doesn’t burst into my apartment unannounced to start judging my life choices, hm? Not every interaction I have with someone outside of _you three_ has to be _a crush_.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Ragnor says mildly, and Cat’s snort of laughter has Magnus thunking his head back against the cabinets with a sigh.

“You’re all terrible. Coffee?”

He makes everyone’s drinks just the way they like them (white, no sugar for Ragnor; black and hotter than the sun for Catarina; pale as the moon with a teaspoon of brown sugar for Raphael), even though the meddlesome swine don’t deserve it. He deposits their mugs in front of them at the island, then slides onto a stool with his own beverage nestled between his palms a moment later. Cat has already downed a third of hers, since the inside of her mouth is like napalm after too many rushed lunches and scalding hot coffees in the ER. Raphael, the little degenerate, waits for his already-cool coffee to come to room temperature before he even starts sipping it. Magnus doesn’t know why he likes these people.

“Not that I’m admitting to anything,” Magnus says eventually, pausing lengthily to take a sip of his own coffee - perhaps a tad dramatically. “But I’m intrigued to know how news of my apparent ‘crush on a white boy’ got around. Especially to you, Raphael, given that you don’t speak to anyone. Ever.”

“I go to Bingo on Tuesday nights,” he says, voice pointedly flat. Even after a decade of friendship, Magnus has no fucking clue if he’s serious or not.

“What our _super-secret sources_ have been unable to verify,” Cat says curiously, neither confirming nor denying the link to Bingo, “is who this mysterious man is. So spill.” Magnus takes another gulp of his coffee.

“Alexander is a friend,” he says firmly. “I’ve known him for less than two weeks, after Isabelle dragged him with her to my last show. While I would, of course, climb him like a tree were the opportunity to present itself, I find myself in the awkward position of liking him as a person. I would therefore be inordinately grateful to you all if you would keep your noses _out_ before you scare him off like the giant, frightened deer he is.” His voice is firm, but Cat is grinning from ear to ear. Raphael’s face is unchanged. Ragnor looks a little like he might be dozing in his chair, coffee half drunk in front of him.

“Hold on,” Cat says, pushing her empty mug out of the way and leaning forward intently. “Isabelle _Lightwood_?”

“Yes?” Magnus confirms, the beginnings of suspicion coiling in his gut. Cat _shrieks_ , startling Ragnor from his impromptu slumber with a “ye _Gods_ Catarina”.

“You’re talking about her brother, Alec Lightwood.” It’s not a question, and to Magnus’s mounting horror, Cat pulls out her phone and starts furiously scrolling through something, eyes darting across the screen. With a triumphant huff of breath, she slides the phone across the counter towards Magnus, eyes glittering with mirth. What Magnus sees when he picks it up almost takes his breath away.

Standing there in workout gear, an indulgent grin on his face, is none other than Alexander Lightwood. In one hand he’s holding a length of yellow fabric, while the other is clutched in the small fist of a very familiar young girl, her face quietly pleased above the stiff white lapels of what looks to be Jujutsu gear. She’s wearing a grey belt tied haphazardly round her waist, and her wayward hair is scraped back into a neat bun.

Seeing a smiling, almost _glowing_ Alexander holding hands with his favourite 7-year-old is almost too much for his heart to bear.

“He’s one of Madzie’s teachers at the Academy,” Magnus says softly, realisation coming to him alongside a rush of affection. It was only a few weeks ago that Catarina’s little girl had managed to move up in her martial arts class, and Madzie - usually a quiet, introverted kid - hadn’t been able to stop talking about Mr L handing over her new, yellow belt.

Ragnor rather ruins the moment by groaning.

“It’s worse than we thought,” he says mournfully, knocking back the rest of his coffee and grimacing. “He’s halfway in love with the boy already - look at his face.”

“I told you it would be useless,” Raphael says with a disaffected shrug. “Can I go now?” The look on Catarina’s face suggests that nobody is going anywhere for quite some time.

“I’ll order in the breakfast burritos. We haven’t hung out in person together for over a _month_ , and we all have the morning free - don’t make this harder than it has to be, guys.” Cat’s right, of course. Magnus sighs again, loud and long-suffering, but he’s smiling.

“Fine. Who wants bellinis?” Everyone but Raphael wants a bellini (except that Raphael _absolutely_ wants one, and he’s going to have one, he just likes to pretend that fun fruity drinks aren’t fun or fruity. Nobody believes him).

“If Magnus starts describing this boy’s eyes I will leave,” Raphael says sternly, but he’s moving through to the living room without further complaint a moment later. Ragnor climbs down from his own stool with a grunt and goes to claim his favourite armchair - as if any of the rest of them would dare sit in it while he’s here. Cat stays long enough to squeeze Magnus’s shoulder and smile, then she’s dialling their favourite breakfast place and wandering off to join the others, phone pressed against her ear.

“Guess I’m making bellinis then,” Magnus says to nobody in particular. At least he always keeps peach puree in the freezer.

➸

His friends (his _family_ , really, if Magnus could even _think_ the word without his throat seizing up with emotion) stay for hours. Cat wasn’t wrong when she said it had been over a month since they’d done this; Magnus thinks it’s probably been closer to two, truth be told.

Cat pulls ridiculous shifts at the hospital, her days off filled with Madzie and whatever else gets pushed to the wayside while she’s saving lives, and that alone makes things difficult. Then there’s Ragnor’s writing, which goes in fits and starts; he’ll disappear for weeks at a time, sending them only the odd message to reassure them he’s alive, emerging after his confinement with feverish eyes and a finished manuscript like some kind of holy apparition. Magnus isn’t actually sure what it is that Raphael does for a living, but he seems to be perpetually suited up and stressed, so Magnus assumes it’s something important.

By the time they leave it’s 1pm, and Magnus can’t keep the smile off his face. His friends are horrible and invasive, and he loves them so much it makes his chest hurt - even if none of them bothers to throw away their own burrito wrappers.

Everything in the apartment is back in order by 1.30 and Magnus collapses onto the sofa with the intention of having an afternoon nap. Or perhaps sleeping until the weekend; he’s feeling self-indulgent.

He changes his mind rather quickly when he receives a text from Alec simply saying _‘lunch?’_

As though the question needs to be asked.

➸

“You never cease to amaze me, Alexander,” Magnus says fondly, looking around at the little cafe with interest. “I’ve lived here most of my life and I had no idea this was here.” Alec shrugs, looking quietly pleased as he sips on his water.

“We all used to come here as kids. It’s not… _fancy_.” He says the word like it’s new to him, and not an entirely pleasant concept. “It’s good though. And we were all really into Polish food. Never really stopped.”

“There are thirty different kinds of pierogi on the menu,” Magnus says in wonderment. “As a pierogi fanatic, I can assure you that the amazement I’m feeling is thoroughly positive.” Alec flushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck in that self-conscious and adorable way he does when given any kind of praise or positive attention. Magnus suddenly wonders whether there’s a single parent at the Academy who’s picked up their child from Alec’s after-school classes without falling instantly and irrevocably in love with the teacher. Except maybe Cat, who would chew Alec up and spit him back out.

They order way too many pierogis, as well as some gołąbki, and Magnus is delighted to learn that Alec likes to share food, preferring to sample a number of dishes rather than limiting himself to just one.

“Have you had Spanish tapas?” Alec quirks an eyebrow at him.

 _“Mi madre me enseñó a hacer tapas cuando tenía diez años.”_ Ah, there it is again, Magnus thinks; the hot stab of desire at being addressed in Spanish by a very attractive man.

 _“Lo siento,”_ he says, laughing. “I’d forgotten just whom I was addressing. Did she teach all of you?” The face Alec pulls is pained.

“Technically, yes,” he admits, pulling at the edges of the menu in front of him as though he’s trying to shred it through the lamination. “Izzy is… terrible.” Magnus barks out a laugh at his directness, and Alec laughs a little in response. “She can’t even make toast. I don’t know why.”

“And Jace? Max?” Magnus prompts, leaning forward slightly and propping his head up on his hand. It’s terrible table manners, but their food isn’t here yet, and shaving inches off the distance between himself and Alec is a compulsion by this point.

“Jace is okay,” Alec says with a shrug, and the lack of a full body shudder is promising. “He’s mastered patatas bravas, but his calamari are literally _always_ overcooked. Even if I’m there to time it and he’s the one actually cooking, they end up all rubbery.”

“He seems proficient in the ancient art of coffee brewing at least, so I suppose he is free of judgment for now,” Magnus says beneficently. “Max?”

“Max is quite a lot younger than us, so he’s still learning. His nanny is Spanish though, so hopefully he’ll pick it up.” He doesn’t sound bitter about this fact, just resigned. Magnus’s heart aches quite suddenly for this tall, caring man, who holds himself to such a high standard and yet expects so little of others.

“Provided Isabelle doesn’t poison his mind first, I’m sure our stomach linings will all be safe.” Alec laughs at that, the levity restored, and when their food arrives Magnus thinks it might be the best meal he’s ever had.

➸

It’s a couple of days after his lunch with Alec that Magnus finds his late afternoon snooze interrupted by the sharp trill of his phone. He rolls off the sofa with the grace and elegance of a new-born giraffe, then fumbles underneath the coffee table for the infernal thing, eventually closing his fingers around it with a triumphant _“a-ha”_. He pauses when the screen comes into view, then answers it with more enthusiasm than he thought he had left in him today.

“Alexander! This _is_ a surprise.” And it is - Magnus is surprised. It’s happening with alarming frequency recently, which isn’t what he was expecting from his 30s. He was so sure he’d be settled by now, with nothing more thrilling in his personal life than the distant possibility of being knocked out by an errant bolt of fuchsia satin.

 _“Yeah, I - sorry. I could just text you?”_ Alec doesn’t sound agitated, per se, but there’s something in his tone that has Magnus sitting up from his sprawl, back now pressed against the sofa.

“Not at all - it’s lovely to hear your voice. What can I do for you?” There’s silence for a moment, then a sigh. A crinkle like that of a piece of paper being balled up.

 _“My mother just tried to set me up with someone,”_ Alec says bitterly, and Magnus keeps himself very still even as his blood makes a valiant attempt to freeze in his veins.

“Oh?” he asks, trying to give off a vibe of polite interest and comfort rather than projecting the potent jealousy threatening to strangle him.

 _“Her friend’s daughter. Irene or Iris or… I don’t know. I don’t care. I’m pretty sure mom knows I’m-”_ Alec’s sentence cuts off with another sigh, this one hot and frustrated. _“You know.”_ Magnus thinks he might, but he doesn’t want to overstep. He would also rather not feed the small fire that’s thawing the ice in his blood - not when it might come to nothing at all. Perhaps Alec is generally uninterested in relationships of any kind, like Raphael; Magnus would support and respect that, even though it wouldn’t satisfy his own selfish desires.

“I’m afraid I’m at somewhat of a disadvantage,” he says softly. “Sadly, while I pride myself on my ability to read people, I cannot read _minds_.” Alec gives a snort of laughter and Magnus’s spine relaxes an inch further at the sound. Then there’s another sigh on the other end of the line, this one thin and a little shaky.

 _“I’m gay,”_ Alec says eventually, and there’s so much determination in those two words, so much sharp relief that Magnus is almost ashamed of his own exultation. This isn’t _about_ him. 

“Ah,” he says (instead of ‘oh thank god and the angels’), smiling and hoping Alec can hear that too. “Then I don’t imagine Irene-slash-Iris would be quite what you’re looking for in a partner.” There’s a ‘hm’ of agreement, then nothing else for a moment but steady breathing. Magnus waits, checking his nails and noticing a chip in the polish. He’ll have to fix that later. Maybe repaint them entirely. Gold, perhaps.

 _“I’ve never said that out loud before.”_ And oh - _oh_. Magnus sucks in a sharp breath, closing his eyes against the rush of emotions the inhalation brings with it.

“Alexander,” Magnus breathes. He feels, quite suddenly, that he is holding something very precious and fragile in his hands, and any sudden movement might send it crashing to the floor. “Thank you… for trusting me with this. You’re safe with me. You know that.” He doesn’t frame it as a question, but Alec says _“I know”_ with such force and speed that Magnus almost laughs.

 _“This is stupid,”_ Alec sighs eventually, and there’s a squeaking sound from his side of the call, like he’s leaning back in a well-used office chair. _“Izzy knows - probably. Or she has a rough idea. Jace has to know. Clary tried to tell me she knew once, and I blanked her so hard she couldn’t speak to me for a week without crying. I still feel a bit bad about that, but I… It doesn’t matter, I’m not ashamed or anything, I just-”_ Alec seems to run out of steam, voice cutting off again. Magnus hums thoughtfully.

“Your sexuality doesn’t belong to anyone else, Alec,” he says softly, keeping his eyes closed. If he does that, he can pretend they’re together, having this unexpectedly intimate conversation in each other’s space, rather than through the ever-present background static of a cell line. “It’s as much a part of you as your skin or your teeth - or, in your case, your wildly attractive bedhead.”

 _“Hey,”_ Alec objects, laughter in his voice. _“I brush my hair. It just doesn’t seem to make much of a difference.”_ Magnus privately thinks that Alec’s hair is magnificent, and he’s entertained many thoughts of threading his fingers through the dark tangle of it.

“I’m sure dear Isabelle despairs of it.”

 _“She despairs of most areas of my life and appearance,”_ Alec says drily. Magnus tuts.

“Alexander, you are both unfairly beautiful.” He pauses. “I’m not sure what happened to Jace.” Alec’s laughter is just as thrilling as last time, in the coffee shop; Magnus pictures the delighted surprise on his features and the crinkling of his eyes with startling clarity. His recall is perfect in this very specific area, even as other details of that day have started to fade slightly.

 _“Jace is adopted,”_ Alec explains, the laughter still clear beneath his words, threatening to bubble over. _“And he’s always been the pretty boy, so you clearly don’t know what you’re talking about.”_ Magnus scoffs.

“I make my living out of ‘pretty’,” he says loftily, eyes open now so he can roll them more enthusiastically. “I can recognise it with unerring accuracy. And _you_ , Alexander Lightwood, are extraordinarily pretty.” The silence that follows this declaration is heavy, but not unpleasant. Magnus doesn’t regret saying it, exactly, though he almost wishes he’d been less firm. Less obviously _truthful_. Sadly, there is very little buffer between his heart and his mouth, even after everything.

 _“I really don’t know how you can say that to me,”_ Alec says finally, and his voice is a little lower. Secretive. Private.

“Why? It’s the truth.” Magnus wants to shut himself up, but he can’t.

 _“Maybe because you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen, and I don’t know how you can possibly see that in me.”_

Magnus is struck dumb. Something about the cadence of those words, the way the sentence seemed to roll off Alec’s tongue like the syllables were racing downhill - inexorable and unstoppable - makes him weak.

 _“Sorry, that just sort of-”_ Magnus can almost see Alec waving a hand in an abortive half wave, arms somehow still stiff even in motion. _“Sorry. It was inappropriate.”_

“Darling, what part of our relationship so far made you think I ever wished to be associated with the word ‘appropriate’?” Magnus’s mouth is dry and he has a suspicion he sounds _affected_. “I am not in the habit of being offended when a kind, gorgeous man tells me I’m beautiful. Quite the opposite in fact.”

The sun is still high in the sky; it’s not even 2pm. Summery warmth is beginning to creep through the apartment. Magnus is going to have to turn on the air con soon if he’s going to stay awake. Usually, the heat would make him drowsy, tendrils of heat latching onto the idea of sleep and tugging him closer, mind slowing and going treacle soft. He is made for the sun - bathes in it like a cat at the earliest opportunity. He’s perpetually chilled in winter, trembling awake at odd hours with it, but in the summer he’ll nap in chairs, on sofas, laid out on rugs in patches of liquid gold.

He has never felt more awake.

 _“What are we doing?”_ It’s barely more than a whisper, but the jolt it sends through Magnus’s body is like he’s touched a livewire. His fingertips tingle, his palm a little clammy where he’s holding the phone against his ear.

“Talking,” he says eventually, feeling like his voice is too big for the bubble they’ve created. “Connecting.” _Falling in love a little_ , he does not say, even though the words are trying to climb out of his throat.

 _“Can I see you?”_ Alec asks eventually, quietly hopeful and raw. As if Magnus could possibly deny him anything.

“Yes.”

➸

Magnus has had people at his loft before - of course he has. Recently, in fact, although he suspects that having Alexander Lightwood in his apartment will feel significantly different to the settled comfort of Ragnor, Cat, and Raphael’s presence.

But he’d invited Alec here, rattled off his address without thinking and given him the external door code.

“I gave him the _door code_ ,” Magnus says wonderingly - ostensibly to Chairman Meow but, given that he is a cat (and also passed out on the sofa), Magnus supposes he’s mostly talking to himself. This does not bode well for the evening. He feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

He cleans a bit more - though he doesn’t touch the bedroom (because it’s fine already, that’s not why he invited Alec here, he doesn’t want to be that person) - then brushes his teeth. Touches up his makeup. He thinks about putting on something nicer than skinny jeans and the silvery silk shirt he’s wearing, but dismisses the idea. It’s the thought that one day his friends will find out about his fashion panic over a man who thinks black is a colour that stops him in the end. Raphael would rip him to shreds for that.

The knock on the door is exactly when he expects it, but he still jumps. The Chairman, judging Magnus from the sofa, stands up, stretches, then hops down to sulk in the spare room, even though Magnus’s own bedroom is closer. He’s not 100% sure if this is his cat pimping him out, but he’s trying not to read too much into it.

Magnus opens the door and immediately has trouble standing upright, because he’s a horrible cliche of a human being with a weak heart and weaker knees. Alec is wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt - navy, to his credit, for all that navy may as _well_ be black - and dark jeans that mould to his thighs, as though to emphasise the power in his ridiculously long legs. His face is - well. It’s Alec’s face. There is no part of it that Magnus doesn’t find distractingly beautiful.

He should invite Alec in, he thinks distantly, but Alec is just _staring_ at him and he feels a bit like he’s trying to swim through treacle.

Then Alec closes his eyes with a sharp sigh, frown lines immediately appearing between his eyebrows.

“Alexander?” Magnus asks, uncertain now that they’re here and Alec is being horribly gorgeous - his default setting - but also quite still.

“Sorry, you’re just-” Alec sighs again, sounding very angry for some reason, and opens his eyes. He fixes Magnus with a look. “Being with you in person makes it hard to concentrate.”

Magnus can’t fucking do this.

“Alexander,” he says, as calmly as he knows how. “If you come into this apartment, there is the distinct possibility that you won’t leave it for the entirety of the weekend. That wasn’t what I had planned, but I am a very weak man and you have _done_ something to me.”

The silence after that statement is a roar in Magnus’s ears, and Alec is still just staring at him, unmoving in the frame of Magnus’s doorway. His lips are slightly parted, as though he’s ready to say something but the words won’t come, and his eyes are unfathomable.

“Alexander,” Magnus repeats eventually, voice breaking a little on the second syllable, and then Alec is surging forward, pushing him back into _his own apartment_ and kicking the door closed behind him with an echoing finality. 

“ _Magnus_ -” And that’s all the warning Magnus gets before Alec is pressing him firmly into the wall by the front door, hot, broad hands burning through the cool silk at his hips like brands. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Alec murmurs, voice warmer and more liquid than the swathes of sunshine painting the living room walls. Magnus feels like he’s on fire.

“Please tell me this isn’t because I’m the first openly queer man you’ve noticed looking twice at you,” he says a little desperately, fisting his hand in the front of Alec’s supremely ordinary navy t-shirt. Alec makes a noise in the back of his throat, and it’s not a growl but it _could_ be, and Magnus’s pulse thrums wildly in his neck and wrists; his fight or flight response is _very_ confused right now.

“I didn’t-” He tightens his fingers around Magnus’s hips and presses their foreheads together, eyes screwed shut. “It’s all been theoretical. Feeling something like this for anyone. Until I saw you, and then I couldn’t _stop_ feeling, and I don’t know what to do with it all.”

Magnus has some pretty fucking stellar ideas to be going on with.

“I can work with that,” Magnus says, voice falling short of casual by several thousand miles. Fingers still buried in the fabric of Alec’s shirt, free hand threading through thick, dark hair like it could ground him somehow, Magnus leans up and _pulls_ -

The lazy afternoon heat around them seems to boil over. 

The kiss starts out messy and only gets better from there. Magnus doesn’t know if Alec’s kissed anyone before - doesn’t care, really - but the hot, gasping press of their mouths together is perfect, it’s _everything_ , so either Alec is a kissing connoisseur or he’s a natural. Alec touches him like he doesn’t know where to start. The broad, overwhelming heat of his hands burns a path from Magnus’s hips, dragging up his sides and settling on his arms for the briefest of moments; there’s a gratifying stutter of breath when Alec feels the shift of muscles under silk, and Magnus tugs him in deeper, wanting Alec as off-balance as he feels.

“ _Magnus_ ,” Alec pulls away long enough to say his name like a prayer, then Magnus moves both his hands to Alec’s hips and drags him in, moving back against him and sweet _Jesus_ yes. The noise he makes at the contact is a pitiful whine, but then Alec’s kissing him again and Magnus really can’t concentrate on feeling embarrassed when his energies are so obviously needed elsewhere. His brain is soup, he’s hot everywhere this man is touching him, and the slick, almost obscene sounds of their mouths moving together are making him frantic with want.

Alec pulls away again a moment later, breathing hard, and Magnus barely has time to be annoyed about it before Alec’s saying, “ _tell me if I’m doing something wrong_ ” and lifting him up, pressing Magnus into the wall and lining their hips up so perfectly Magnus thinks he might briefly see God.

“You’ve never done anything wrong in your _life_ ,” Magnus hisses baselessly, turned on and desperate, wrapping his legs around Alec’s waist as though it will keep him from leaving. Possibly ever. “Fantastic track record. Stellar. Please shut me up.” Alec does.

Magnus doesn’t think anything has ever felt this good before, and he’s had enough experience over the years to know what a statement that is. He also knows what he likes, what he loves, and what winds him up so fast he can’t see straight; Alexander is doing a very passable job of ticking every box Magnus has, as well as making up a few new ones.

Holding Magnus up against a wall with the power of his body? Check.

Framing Magnus’s face with those obscenely large hands while kissing the breath out of him? Check.

Grinding his hips into Magnus’s almost as an afterthought, helpless, gasping and shivering at the friction? _Check_.

Alec is projecting everything he’s feeling in full HD, because nobody’s ever told him not to. Magnus has been with people who held back - has done it himself, hiding vulnerabilities and sharing only what he thought was safe in whatever brief bubble of intimacy he’d allowed to exist. Alexander has never learned to do that, and his honesty is absolutely breathtaking. And _hot_.

“Do you want-” Magnus starts to ask, but Alec just growls _“yes”_ against his mouth so - alright, fuck, that answers that question, whatever it was.

Magnus isn’t sure how they end up in his bedroom, but he’s fairly certain they broke a few things on the way. Nothing he can’t replace, probably, but at this point a hurricane could sweep through his living room and Magnus would still be incapable of looking away from the man on his bed.

Because that’s where Alec is; spread out on Magnus’s silk sheets, shirt rucked up to his ribcage, mouth kiss-swollen and bitten to a tempting red. There’s an unmistakable bulge in the front of his jeans, the size of which holds a _lot_ of promise.

“Magnus,” Alec says plaintively, voice gravelly, and Magnus realises he himself has paused, one knee on the bed, his other leg still firmly rooted to the floor.

“Sorry, darling - admiring the view,” he says honestly. “I’m considering taking photos and plastering them on my walls. Replacing the Monets. Putting a picture of your ridiculous torso on my fridge door.” Alec’s flushed all over, but Magnus can’t tell if it’s from the praise or the fact that they’ve been grinding against each other and making out for ten solid minutes between here and the entryway. Alec sits up in that horribly attractive way people do when they have abs for days - _look, no hands_ \- and slides his fingers into Magnus’s hair, tugging just hard enough that Magnus’s eyes drift closed of their own volition.

“Like hell do you own a Monet,” Alec says throatily, and the strangled laugh that flies out of Magnus’s mouth turns very quickly into something thin and reedy as Alec’s mouth claims his again. He finds himself pulled on top of Alec’s warm, firm body, and wonders if this might all be a delicious fever dream. In between hard, biting kisses he manages to get Alec’s shirt off, and Magnus’s ends up open, shoved halfway off his shoulders before Alec gives up on the endeavour and pulls him back down instead.

“I’m a Monet enthusiast. I have three,” he lies, moving down to the long, pale expanse of Alec’s throat, which he willingly bares to give Magnus more room to work. The first scrape of his teeth over Alec’s pulse point causes the other man to swear, his hips bucking up against Magnus’s as he scrabbles for purchase against the slippery silk at his back. Magnus rocks his own hips down and sucks a mark into Alec’s clavicle, the combination of which rips a noise like low and distant thunder from Alec’s throat. “Sensitive?” he asks, like it isn’t blindingly obvious that the man beneath him is about to come in his jeans.

“I just really like French Impressionism,” Alec bites out through gritted teeth, then swallows up Magnus’s answering laughter with his mouth again, one hand firm and warm on the back of Magnus’s neck.

“You know,” Magnus says, breathless and shaking as he fumbles with the button on Alec’s jeans. “I was told you were repressed. I was hoping you’d eventually be reluctantly charmed by me, but we’re actually ripping through my top ten fantasies well ahead of schedule.” Alec swallows audibly when Magnus gets his zipper down, dragging his knuckles deliberately across the front of Alec’s predictably practical boxer briefs as he goes. The motion sends a shudder through Alexander’s body and he makes another broken noise in the back of his throat. There’s a growing wet spot there that Magnus wants to taste.

“You fantasise about me coming in my underwear?” Alec asks shakily, disbelief edging out the embarrassment in his voice by a small margin. Like Magnus wouldn’t take a snapshot of that moment and frame it on his wall. Like he wouldn’t _scrapbook it_.

“Top five material,” Magnus replies with a smile, before leaning down to suck a wet, open mouthed kiss to the skin just below Alec’s navel. The reaction is gratifyingly loud and full-bodied, Alec’s hands coming down to tangle in Magnus’s hair again as he raises a dark bruise to the skin; he pulls off only when he’s satisfied that it’ll stick around for a few days.

Magnus looks up the length of Alec’s body and almost has to close his eyes against the barrage of _want_ that flows through him. Alec’s usual devastation has been ramped up to eleven; there’s a delicious bruise darkening the skin of his neck, a thin sheen of sweat across his chest and the tight muscles of his stomach. His hair is completely wild, and his eyes are closed, teeth sunk into his bottom lip. Magnus wants to ruin him for anyone else.

“How’s your refractory period?” Magnus asks, slightly hoarse. Alec’s eyes snap open and they’re dark and hazy with need, more pupil than iris.

“I haven’t um-” Alec breaks off with a little keening sound when Magnus tucks his fingers into the waistband of his underwear. “I don’t know?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” Magnus says firmly, pulling down Alec’s boxer briefs and jeans with a tug so he can get his hands - and mouth - on Alec’s dick. 

“Oh _fuck-_ ” Even without that rather telling exclamation from higher up the bed, Magnus knows that Alec is roughly thirty seconds from coming. In fact, he’s actually quite impressed they’ve made it this far without incident - and Magnus is _supremely_ glad they did, because Alec’s dick is really very nice, and deserves proper attention.

He hasn’t gone down on anyone of any gender in a little while (hedonism and debauchery really _have_ taken a backseat in the last twelve months), but he’s delighted to find it as rewarding as he remembers. Alec’s hands are in his hair still, gripping and flexing as he whines and does a very respectable job of not fucking up into Magnus’s mouth, even though his abs are taut with the effort of it. The noises he’s making are sharp and breathy, and it only takes Magnus swallowing around him, humming just a little, before Alec’s orgasm is wrenched from him with a shout.

Magnus doesn’t even try not to look smug as he pulls away, Alec’s slack hands slipping out of his hair and falling back to the bed. Magnus stands up, quickly shedding his shirt and pulling off Alec’s jeans and underwear before climbing back onto the sheets; Alec grabs at him as soon as he’s in reach, pulling Magnus down so they’re chest to chest again, Magnus’s knees bracketing Alec’s hips. Then he’s being kissed, Alec’s mouth open and inviting, and Magnus finds himself pleasantly surprised.

“That was-” Alec seems to struggle to find words, instead opting to pull Magnus in for another kiss. Magnus thinks he gets the idea anyway.

“I’m beginning to think I’ve been lied to about the level of repression you’ve been suffering under,” Magnus says eventually, pulling away and frowning at Alec’s wide-eyed, slightly come-drunk confusion. He’s all rumpled and flushed, pale skin still dewy with exertion, and Magnus can do nothing but lean back in to kiss him again, his own need still thrumming hotly in his veins. Alec answers the kiss with enthusiasm, licking into his mouth; he seems to be enjoying the opportunity to explore and taste himself there, which wasn’t even on Magnus’s list of ‘ _hot things Alexander might do with me one day if I’m really very lucky’_. A grave oversight, really.

Alec pulls away and presses a tentative hand to the front of Magnus’s jeans, squeezing a little when Magnus makes a noise he would probably describe as desperate. Possibly wanton. 

“Can I touch you?” Alec asks, hazel eyes beautiful and surprisingly sure as they flick between Magnus’s face and the hardness in his jeans. Magnus would very much like to say yes; being touched by Alec has suddenly become very high up on his list of priorities. However, he has plans now, and he’s not going to let a pair of beautiful eyes derail them, even if being pinned down and jerked off by those gorgeous hands wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

“That depends,” he says slowly, eyes drifting shut for a moment with a soft hum as Alec presses his palm a little harder against him. “I did say we’d test your refractory period, though I understand if you’re not quite up to being fucked mere hours after coming out of the closet.” Alec’s hand stills, and Magnus opens his eyes to assess the reaction his words have caused.

Alec’s mouth is slightly open, and as Magnus watches he wets his lips with his tongue; it’s an unconscious motion, but it certainly has an _effect_. His expression is caught between shock and desire, like he hadn’t known he’d wanted something until it was offered.

“This just in,” Alec says eventually, voice a little cracked. “My refractory period seems to be um… pretty short.” Magnus looks down between their bodies.

“Hm,” he says, delighted anew by the wonders Alexander has brought to his bed. “So it would seem.”

It would be easier if Alec were on his hands and knees, but the second he says “I want to - to see you. If that’s okay?” Magnus is all aboard _that_ train - do not pass ‘go’, etc. He’s going a bit mad with want, so he’s probably mixing metaphors. They talk about condoms in a very frank sort of way, which has Alec covering his face and stuttering adorably. This does absolutely nothing to stop Magnus talking to him about it.

“I know you haven’t done this with anyone else, Alexander, but the fact of the matter is that I have,” he says patiently, while Alec stares resolutely at the ceiling and chews his bottom lip like it’s done something to offend him. “I really should’ve used one to blow you - that was terribly irresponsible of me. I’m afraid I got a little bit caught up in the moment. I’ve been tested and I’m perfectly clean, but that’s no reason not to be safe and set a good example. I could be lying! I’m not, but then I _would_ say that-” Alec groans and sits up so he can shut Magnus up with a kiss. He pulls away a second later, breathing hard, and fixes Magnus with a glare.

“Can you just get in me already? I trust you. Also, this is mortifying but apparently even you _talking about safe sex_ does it for me, so I really need you to hurry up.” This pronouncement is followed by another kiss that makes Magnus’s toes curl, then Alec’s hands are fumbling with his jeans and - after some half-hearted complaints about the _tightness_ of said jeans - they are both finally, gloriously naked together.

Fingering Alec turns out to be an exercise in restraint; every slide and twitch of Magnus’s fingers has him making _some_ kind of noise, Alec’s entire body responding to stimuli like he wasn’t on the receiving end of an orgasm less than twenty minutes ago. When Magnus finds his prostate, barely grazing it with two fingers, Alec’s hands fly to the headboard, and the high, broken _“fuck”_ he seems incapable of holding back forces electricity through Magnus’s body.

“Can you take a little more, darling?” he asks, swallowing when his voice comes out fissured, shaky. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted anyone this much in his life. Alec whines and pushes back against Magnus’s fingers, nodding fervently with his eyes screwed shut.

“Yes, yeah just - please-” Magnus starts to add a third finger and all the air seems to briefly leave Alec’s body. “ _Slowly_ ,” he hisses, his grip on the headboard turning white knuckled at the intrusion.

“We can take as long as you need,” Magnus says softly, voice shaking, even though they probably _can’t_. Magnus is hardly a virgin, but he’s been on edge for quite some time now, and Alec is the physical embodiment of just about every wet dream he’s ever had. Alec stays wound up pretty tightly, even with Magnus going at a snail’s pace, so he leans forward and places a kiss to the base of Alec’s cock before licking up the underside with the flat of his tongue. Alec _yelps_ , but some of the tension starts to bleed out of him as Magnus alternates small, calculated thrusts of his fingers with firm strokes of his tongue.

It isn’t long until Alec’s hips are rolling back against Magnus’s hand and mouth, the curses dropping from his lips becoming both more frequent and much more creative.

“The _mouth_ on you,” Magnus breathes, crooking his fingers on an upward thrust and being rewarded with a _“yes, fucking God, you-”_ and a keening moan. What exactly he was going to say about Magnus remains uncertain, because Alec seems to run out of breath entirely at the next drawn-out drag against his prostate.

“ _Ah_ ,” he eventually manages, a high, needy note that cracks a little in the middle. “Magnus, I need-” Whatever Alec needs he can have, frankly; Magnus does not require any further encouragement. He’s been ready to do this since Alexander manhandled him by his front door, and quite possibly before that as well.

When he finally gets inside Alec, the entire world narrows down to sound and sensation. The slide of Alec’s tongue against his; Alec’s soft hair between his fingers; the tight heat of him, damp breath stuttering against Magnus’s neck with every shallow thrust of his hips.

For all Alec’s cursing in the lead up to _this_ , the stream of words seems to dry up when he’s close. Magnus can feel the tremors in the other man’s limbs even as he himself tries to fight off the waves of heat threatening to pull him over the edge. Alec deserves to be taken care of, and that means he gets to come first, even if all Magnus wants to do right now is bury himself in Alec’s body and let go.

He wraps a hand around Alec’s cock, and that’s all it takes. Alec lets out a long, low moan and shudders his way to climax, head thrown back, hands having long since moved from the headboard to grasp desperately at Magnus’s shoulders. His grip tightens almost painfully now, then relaxes by increments, and Magnus is so enjoying the view of Alec’s straining muscles and fucked-out expression that his own orgasm completely blindsides him.

“ _Oh_ ,” he gasps, and Alec – his sweet, perfect Alexander, who apparently has the ability to read minds and could bench-press a grand piano - pulls him down into a meltingly hot kiss, grinding down in time with Magnus’s abortive thrusts as he works through his orgasm.

Eventually the stimulation becomes too much for both of them and Magnus eases out with as much care as he can manage, flopping inelegantly onto the bed next to Alec and throwing an arm across his torso.

“Well, that was a learning experience,” Alec says eventually, the words coming out just a little slow and hoarse, as though his voice box is relearning the language.

“It was,” Magnus agrees, nuzzling in a little closer to press a kiss to Alec’s shoulder. They’re nice shoulders, and he’s full to the brim with afterglow and fondness. He kisses Alec’s clavicle as well, for good measure.

“I’m sure I learned more than you,” Alec says with a snort, turning in the loose circle of Magnus’s arm so they’re face to face. “For starters, I’m definitely gay.” He says it with such a straight face that Magnus can’t help but laugh, dropping his head onto Alec’s flushed chest and shaking a little against him.

“Or I’m just that good,” he suggests after his laughter has subsided, lifting his head so his cocky raised eyebrow is in full view. Alec just smiles, slow and lazy.

“Or that,” he says. “I also learned that I have a pretty good refractory period.”

“I feel like we learned that together,” Magnus replies with mock solemnity. “And while I would love to take credit for how quickly you rose to the occasion the second time, I wouldn’t want to devalue your achievement.”

“We’re going to have to start some kind of gold star system,” Alec says seriously, his arm tightening a little where it’s slung around Magnus’s waist, bringing them closer together. “We can keep it on your fridge.”

“But darling,” Magnus says with a delighted grin. “That space is reserved for one of my photos of your glorious body! I fully intend for them all to be poster-sized, at _least_ -” His teasing is brought to a swift conclusion by the thorough application of Alec’s mouth to his, and he very quickly forgets about anything but the heat of Alec’s body and the thrum of delight in his bones.

➸

They shower together and Alec is so intimidated by the sheer variety of shampoos and body washes that Magnus has to kiss him calm against the pristine tiles for several long minutes. It’s hardly a tragedy.

“Who needs this many bottles of stuff?” Alec gasps into his mouth, rutting against Magnus’s hip where he’s already half hard again. They’re going to have to implement that gold star system pretty sharpish, Magnus thinks; at this rate, he’s going to lose track in the next 24 hours.

“Nothing wrong with variety, Alexander,” Magnus argues, and then loses his train of thought when Alec wraps slick, clever fingers around his hardening cock.

They do eventually get clean, Magnus pulling on some soft yoga pants once they’re back in the bedroom, opting to leave his towel-dried hair unstyled. He does reapply his eyeliner though - some habits are hard to break. Magnus watches with unapologetic enjoyment as Alec dries himself and then pulls on his jeans, having decided to leave his underwear wherever Magnus managed to fling it earlier in the afternoon. Alec catches his eye and grins lopsidedly, oddly bashful even though Magnus literally came inside him an hour ago.

And that’s enough of _that_ train of thought. He’s going to hurt himself if he’s not careful.

“We can order in, or I can provide you with-” Magnus pauses once they get to the kitchen, looking through the fridge and closing it with a sigh. “Dry toast, probably. My skills do _not_ lie in the kitchen, darling, so I hope you like takeout.”

“You have other skills,” Alec says simply, smile warm and completely guileless - which means Magnus has no choice but to kiss him again. He presses Alec back into the counter, going up just slightly on his tiptoes so he doesn’t have to crane his neck. The height difference between them isn’t too stark, but he finds it oddly thrilling. He’s always liked being wrapped in someone else’s strength, and Alec’s arms around his waist feel a lot like coming home.

“And I’m sure I’ll let you figure out some more of my skills later,” Magnus says with a wink, pressing a final kiss to Alec’s lips before pulling away. “But for now - pick what you want to eat and I’ll order. I can’t imagine why, but I’m _famished_.”

➸

They eat Thai food from the containers with chopsticks, and Alec is so terrible at it that Magnus relents and provides him with a fork. They talk about their favourite books and movies (Alec is surprisingly into Jane Austen), how Magnus got into fashion (he’s good at it, it’s a _very_ boring story), and why Alec got into archery (he grew about a foot one summer in his teens and had to relearn how his entire body worked; it helped him focus).

“What kind of music do you like?” Magnus asks, pushing away his Khao Pad and leaning his elbows on the counter. The sun is starting its lazy journey south just behind Alec’s head, and the soft glow it gives to the tips of his tousled black hair makes him look a little like an angel. Albeit a shirtless angel who just had three orgasms in very quick succession.

“I’m bad at answering that question,” Alec says with a sigh, twirling his fork absentmindedly between his fingers. “I know what I _don’t_ like, I guess? I’ll listen to most things, but after living with Izzy for so long, I have a visceral reaction to Ellie Goulding.” Magnus laughs delightedly.

“Well, it’s good to know you don’t limit yourself by genre, at least. Some people are very narrow-minded and argumentative when it comes to music - it’s bizarre. One of my models once refused to go on stage because she didn’t like what was playing over the speaker system, which would have been fine if it hadn’t happened halfway through the line-up.”

“What did you do?” Alec asks, brow furrowed. Magnus grins.

“Maia put the fear of god into her, I believe. Or at least the fear of Maia.” Alec’s face clears and he snorts.

“Yeah, Iz says she’s a livewire.”

“I wouldn’t have her any other way,” Magnus says fondly, hopping down from his stool to move any of their remaining food to the fridge, leftovers carefully stacked and empty containers swept into the trash.

“What do _you_ like?” Alec asks suddenly, and when Magnus turns to face him Alec’s still twirling the fork, curious eyes fixed on him. “Music, I mean,” he clarifies.

“Anything and everything, my dear,” he says breezily - it’s not a good answer, for all that it’s technically accurate, and Alexander just _watches_ like he’s waiting for something. “But…” Magnus continues slowly, and Alec’s mouth turns up in a small, pleased smile. The boy is as ridiculous as he is beautiful if he thinks Magnus could keep anything at all from him now, let alone something as inconsequential as his musical preferences. “I have trouble sleeping sometimes. I listen to and watch a lot of ASMR videos, and I stumbled across a rather lovely bit of guitar playing recently.” Alec’s gaze has gone shrewd, smile still softly present.

“Is it your hand thing?” Magnus stares at him for a moment then barks out a laugh.

“Am I that transparent?”

“You, um-” Alec gestures at himself with a blush. “You stare at my hands a lot. And you, er, seem to like them on you. More than I expected.” Magnus isn’t sure why this is making Alec all hot and bothered to talk about given their recent interactions, but it’s oddly charming. 

“Guilty as charged. Although,” Magnus adds, holding his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. “In my defence, I clicked on the videos for the hands and stayed for the music.” And then, to demonstrate his point, Magnus goes to fetch his laptop from the bedroom, quickly setting it up on the counter under Alec’s steady gaze. He finds one of the videos in his recent history, presses play, then leans his hip against the counter, arms folded.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting from Alec, but it certainly isn’t the snort of laughter that bursts out of him once it starts playing.

“I feel like I’m missing something here,” Magnus says slowly, completely bewildered by the amusement and borderline incredulity on Alexander’s face.

“Have you, er, watched the most recent video?” Magnus’s brow furrows slightly and he cocks his head to the side, wondering how Alec even knows there _is_ one.

“I doubt it, darling. I’ve been slavishly accepting the decisions made by autoplay. Why?” Alec pulls the laptop over to himself with a rueful smile, and several clicks later he pushes it back to face Magnus. The video is already playing, and the image is the same, but it starts out very differently.

 _“I know it’s usually just covers on here, but this is one of mine.”_ The voice coming from the speakers is curt, a little tightly wound, and incredibly familiar. _“I er - I met someone. So, this happened. Hope you don’t hate it.”_ Magnus is riveted to the screen as the playing starts, voice the same as ever, but also completely different to Magnus’s ears in the face of an overwhelming revelation.

Alexander’s speaking voice had been immediately recognisable.

The video plays, and Magnus can’t look away. He thinks Alec is probably watching him (watching Magnus watch him, because _that’s what is happening_ ), which is the only reason he’s managed not to do something ridiculous like _cry_ already. 

_Colours run from fingertips_

_You pressed into my shoulders, hips_

_And since you left such lurid marks_

_It’s no surprise I’ve come apart_

_Silk-soft skin across your wrists_

_Hides fragile bone I'd love to kiss_

_A simple press, struggle to breathe_

_Although you've made the move towards me_

_Blue and black my eyes and heart_

_A world in grayscale from the start_

_Until you glittered gold before me_

_Lit up the whole room and set me free_

_A caffeine hit, adrenaline_

_A buzzing underneath my skin_

_A clutching breath in patched up lungs_

_As vibrant words wrap round your tongue-_

Magnus slams the laptop shut so fast he thinks he hears something break, but he can’t bring himself to care right now. His heart is in his throat and he is suddenly and absurdly turned on. Nobody’s even written him a _poem_ before, let alone something that makes his ribs ache, so undeniably wrapped in _want_ from the first breath.

“Magnus?” Alexander’s voice - that _voice_ \- brings him back to himself, and Magnus immediately zones in on the note of worry threading through those two syllables. That won’t do. Alec’s turned on his stool, his face open and concerned, like maybe he thinks he’s done something _wrong_. 

It takes Magnus two strides to get in front of Alec, sliding between his legs like he belongs there.

“Alexander,” he murmurs, stretching out the syllables like an invitation as he slides his hands up Alec’s broad chest, skimming his shoulders and landing firmly on the curve of his neck, thumbs brushing the sharp line of his jaw. Alec’s breathing changes almost imperceptibly. It’s just a slight hitch, but the fluttering, quickfire beat of his pulse underneath Magnus’s palms is harder to hide. “You can say no. You can _always_ say no. I’m sure today’s been quite a lot for you. But right now, I would very much like to ride you until one or both of us is begging. I would then like to spend the entire weekend making love to you on every available surface in this apartment.”

Alec looks a little bit dazed. After several long moments of charged silence, Alec clears his throat and wets his lips.

“I don’t have any other clothes here,” he says, voice low and rough, dragging those sinfully talented hands up Magnus’s back and leaving fire in his wake. Alec swallows audibly as Magnus purposefully rolls his shoulders under the touch.

“That really won’t be a problem.”

➸

Magnus wonders if he’ll ever tire of kissing Alexander. He doubts it, honestly, and maybe that’s the endorphins and the stifling heat of intimacy talking, but it just seems so… unlikely. Under Alec’s mouth, Magnus is remade and yet is more himself than he’s ever been. 

“God, you’re so-” Alec cuts himself off with a strangled moan as Magnus slowly lowers himself onto Alec’s cock, breath hissing between his teeth as he adjusts to the sensation.

“I’m what, Alexander?” Magnus eventually has the breath to ask, before Alec thrusts up sharply, stealing the rest of the oxygen from his lungs.

“You’re-” They’re both getting worse at finishing sentences, Magnus thinks hysterically, matching every stuttering thrust and grind of Alec’s hips with his own. They’re eventually going to have to resort to sign language. “You’re beautiful,” Alec gasps, surging up to kiss Magnus like he’s starving, as though there might be enough air in the room for them both as long as they just breathe each other in and don’t stop. “You’re gorgeous, I can’t believe you want -” A gasping intake of breath, then- “you want _me_. How are you _real_?”

It’s too early to say he doesn’t want anyone else, too much to _think_ let alone _say_ , but Magnus is an idiot and he’s being fucked so well right now that he thinks he might never leave this room again so-

“I don’t _want_ anyone else,” he hisses, and it’s pretty much game over after that. The unwavering light in Alec’s eyes just gets brighter, his thrusts more determined. Magnus is kissed to within an inch of his life, and it’s so good and _too much_ , Alec is _everywhere-_

He comes with a sob, hears a rushing in his ears that could very well be his apartment flooding for all the attention he’s paying to the outside world, and distantly feels Alec follow him over the edge.

It takes much longer to come back to himself this time, and he feels sore in places he doesn’t remember having, but it’s a good hurt. He’s on his side facing Alec, their legs intertwined haphazardly, and Alec is cleaning him with a damp hand towel.

“I hope you’re not too attached to this,” he whispers as he wipes between Magnus’s thighs and lower, so unbearably gentle that Magnus almost feels himself drifting off.

“Family heirloom,” he mumbles, eyes already closed even though he thinks he’d like to watch while Alexander takes care of him. It’s a strange impulse, but then being taken care of like this is a little foreign to him. It’s painfully nice. “Irreplaceable. My Great Aunt June will have the vapours.” Alec chuckles, low and soft, and moments later Magnus is being tugged into place, Alec’s warm, firm body curving around his back. 

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” Alexander says gravely, nose brushing across the skin behind Magnus’s ear.

“Mmm.” He’s falling asleep already, the pleasant pressure of Alec’s arms around him drawing him further down every second. “That star chart’s gonna have to be pretty big.”

➸

 _“You’re gonna get murdered by a bunch of PTA moms,”_ Cat says when Magnus tells her about Alec. _“And also possibly some of the dads. I haven’t seen this many people actively participating in their children’s schooling since the Academy got a new coffee machine.”_

“Alexander is not a beverage dispenser,” Magnus says distractedly into his phone, trapping it briefly between his shoulder and chin while trying to wrestle a dark green waistcoat from its hanger. “And if he were, he’d be one of those fancy ones. Very state of the art. All the bells and whistles. Several mysterious functions that everyone’s begging to try out just to see what happens.”

 _“Do tell,”_ Cat laughs, and the noise has Magnus grinning. 

“Why Catarina, are you trying to live vicariously through me? Because that’s not healthy and I will absolutely let you do it anyway.”

 _“Hard to date when you have a kid, a full-time job, and incredibly high standards.”_ Magnus ‘hm’s in agreement.

“Yes, being aware of your own worth does somewhat limit the dating pool. Horrible, isn’t it?”

 _“Dire. Now come on, tell me all about your weekend. Madzie’s in bed, I have a very large glass of wine, and I’m dying to hear about what kept you from answering your phone for 48 straight hours.”_

“I only have twenty minutes until I’m meeting Alexander for dinner,” Magnus argues, somehow managing to slide the waistcoat on over a pale gold shirt without dropping his phone. “Not to brag, but that’s not _nearly_ enough time.” Cat makes a horrified noise, though Magnus knows from experience that it also doubles as her please-spill-the-tea noise.

_“Urgh. I’m torn between disgust and jealousy.”_

“Try again.”

_“Alright - it’s actually just the jealousy.”_

“If I promise to tell you every sordid detail Alexander gives me _permission_ to share, will you free me from this conversation so that I can make myself appropriately alluring?” Cat snorts inelegantly.

_“You must really like him. He’s making you all respectful.”_

“I’ve always been respectful, my dear,” Magnus says, wounded. “What you’ve heard of my sordid and varied sex life has only been the tip of the iceberg. The fact that you can still look me in the eye is a testament to my restraint and discretion.”

 _“I’m saying he’s good for you,”_ Cat says softly, not rising to the bait, and Magnus smiles in spite of himself. It’s probably one of those horribly smitten ones that have been popping up over the last few days. He tries not to catch sight of himself in any mirrors, just in case this brand-new expression doesn’t go with his outfit. _“Go wine and dine your man, Magnus. Call me?”_

“You’ll have your gossip soon, you shameless hussy. Perhaps I’ll have the three of you round again so I can get through it with all of you at once - with the added bonus of horrifying Raphael to his very core.”

 _“Disinfect all the surfaces first,”_ Cat says firmly, and Magnus can’t protest, not really, because he isn’t actually sure there’s anywhere left that he _hasn’t_ had Alexander. After promising to do a deep clean (by which he means hiring someone to come in and do a deep clean _for_ him), he gets off the phone with less than fifteen minutes until he has to meet Alec.

The Ethiopian place is a brisk, five-minute walk from the loft, but it’s been two days since he’s seen Alec ( _“parents’ evening,''_ he'd muttered darkly over the phone the night before, sounding completely drained), so Magnus makes it there in three. When he arrives, Alec is already standing outside the restaurant, stiff and unmoving where he’s leaning against the wall; when he catches sight of Magnus, however, his face goes soft, and it transforms him again from beautiful untouchability into something altogether more familiar.

He is, apparently, not the only one who’s a little over-eager this evening. 

“Hey,” Alec says with a relieved smile, and at the sight and sound of him Magnus’s heart does something warm and complicated in his chest. He smiles back and lets his eyes wander down Alec’s body as he crosses the last few feet between them. While he's wearing his usual dark jeans, the button-up and blazer are a welcome surprise; the shirt is a deep maroon, and Magnus is unexpectedly affected by the barely-there touch of colour.

"Alexander," he says warmly, swaying into Alec's space slightly as he comes to a stop in front of him. "You dressed up for me! Colour me delighted and also deeply aroused." Alec looks pleased and embarrassed in equal measure.

"Izzy said - and I’m quoting here - 'if you're going to drop off the face of the earth for an entire weekend, you're at least going to let me dress you for your date, so help me God'," he says drily. Magnus laughs and reaches out without thinking about it, tangling their fingers together. 

"She wasn't too impressed with having her phone calls ignored then?" Magnus asks with a raised eyebrow. "Cat was the same. I think we're lucky neither of them called the police."

"I'm not sure that would've slowed us down much," Alec mutters, the tips of his ears noticeably reddening. 

"Well at least we didn't give any of New York's finest an eyeful," Magnus says with another grin - this one decidedly more lecherous - before tugging on their joined hands to pull Alec's body against his. "Hello, Alexander," he murmurs, tilting his face up in clear invitation.

"Hello, Magnus," Alec says dutifully, and then he lines up their smiles and Magnus goes boneless against him. How he went almost two days without this is beyond him. And what about before that? Here, on this quiet street, just the soft press of Alec's mouth against his is enough to make him weak; the years it took to get here seem unfathomably dull to him now.

When they finally pull away from each other, they're both grinning a little dopily and Magnus is feeling suspiciously choked up.

"Well," he says eventually, finding his voice. "As much as I would love to do unspeakable things to you against a wall right now, I am absolutely _starving._ Shall we?" Alec seems to consider this for a moment.

“Is the wall thing… Y’know. On the table for afterwards?” he asks haltingly, and the fact that he’s flushing a little just to say it - even after everything they’ve done - is painfully adorable.

“Well, which is it, darling?” Magnus asks with a sly grin, tugging Alec towards the restaurant door by the hand. “Wall or table?”

“ _Magnus_.” And really, Alec shouldn’t say his name in such a dreadfully low and sexy tone of voice if he wants Magnus to stop saying these things in public. It is the exact opposite of threatening. He’s going to start having a Pavlovian reaction to the rumble of traffic and low-flying aircraft.

“We can always decide later,” he says mildly, pulling a red-faced Alec through the door with a laugh.

➸

Magnus spends the next three months dating Alec, screwing him six ways to Sunday, and quietly waiting for the other shoe to drop. He very rarely gets given a nice thing unless it is then, at some future date, taken away from him again. Alexander is, in his not-so-humble opinion, a _very_ nice thing. He imagines that, were there to be a cosmic list of Nice Things somewhere in the world, Alexander Lightwood would make the top five, nestled between 'world peace' and 'bottomless brunch'.

So, on a random Thursday evening several months after the weekend Isabelle refers to (loudly and frequently) as “Alec’s de-virginising sex marathon”, Alec barging into Magnus’s loft with a face like thunder is almost expected.

The sound of the apartment door being slammed open makes Magnus jump, his pencil slipping slightly in his grasp where it's pressed to paper. Ah, he thinks with the cerebral equivalent of a deep sigh; he wasn't going to put a seam there. How terribly gauche of him.

He looks up from the marred design to see Alec striding into the living room, quite plainly furious, and before he can stop himself, Magnus is standing and hurrying towards him.

"Alexander, what's-" But he doesn't get a chance to finish his sentence, the words cut off quite abruptly by Alec's mouth on his. One of Alec's hands is gripping his hip, the other holding him firmly by the back of the neck; with their height difference, the force of the kiss is bowing Magnus's spine back slightly, but the heat curling in his gut suggests this is not a problem in the slightest. It might, in fact, be a bonus. He responds to the kiss with rapt enthusiasm, wrapping his arms around Alec's neck and throwing himself into it. Magnus's earlier concern is very quickly replaced with nothing but waves of sensation, and he's more than a little dazed when Alec pulls away from him almost as sharply as he'd swooped in.

"I _live_ here," Alec says accusingly, and for a moment Magnus is absolutely _lost_.

"Yes?" he tries eventually, because he's definitely missing something, but his brain might be a little on the liquid side right now. Alec's expression goes from vaguely murderous to exasperated in a split second.

" _Magnus._ " The tone of voice and visible italics are probably a warning, but Magnus is still a bit stupid from that kiss, so his body keeps trying to interpret it as something else entirely. Then his brain catches up to the conversation and he frowns.

"You _live_ here?" he repeats, but - well. Alec _is_ here a lot. All the time, really, when he looks at it objectively. He's struggling to think of when he last slept alone; when did he last order a takeaway without asking Alexander what he wanted? He only really makes gin martinis now because that's what Alec prefers and oh my _God-_

"Yeah," Alec says drily, obviously seeing the dawning realisation on Magnus's face. "So, can I have a key now or are you just going to keep your door unlocked all the time like someone who _doesn't_ live in Brooklyn?"

"This area is incredibly safe," Magnus says primly, almost on autopilot. They've had this pseudo-argument before, because Magnus is oddly blasé about his own safety and Alec thinks he's going to get murdered during one of his afternoon naps if he isn't more careful. Alec sighs, frustrated, but kisses him again, so he can't actually be that mad. "Besides," Magnus adds as he pulls back, breath coming a little short. "You have a black belt. And a bow and arrow. It's like living with the goddess of the hunt."

"Artemis was also the goddess of chastity," Alec reminds him, and Magnus snorts.

"Whoops."

"Magnus-" Alec doesn't seem too annoyed when he's cut off with a kiss himself - just a soft press of lips - but it's become clear over the past few months that there are few things Alec loves more than kissing Magnus. It's very gratifying.

"Move in with me?" he asks, somewhat redundantly, his face still inches from Alec's. "You can have a key. I'll give you the few inches of closet space you need for your two pairs of jeans. I'll screen off the products in the shower so you don't get overwhelmed when you're in there. I'll-"

"Yes," Alec says quickly, cutting him off. "Yes, I would love to move in with you Magnus."

And Magnus _beams_ , his heart feeling almost over-full. 

“And now that we’ve got that out the way…” Alec is back to looking mutinous, though Magnus gets the feeling it’s not meant to be aimed at him. However, he also has the distinct impression that he’s been lulled into a _false sense of security._

“I don’t want to hear this, do I?” Magnus says flatly, smile melting off his face.

“No. But I should probably tell you that Izzy accidentally referred to my ‘de-virginising sex marathon’ within earshot of my mother, so we’ve now been invited for dinner.”

Magnus _distinctly_ hears the sound of a shoe dropping.

“I tried to backtrack, but Izzy was completely useless and mom just sort of… steamrollered me.”

Multiple shoes, in fact. Heavy ones.

“She also might be under the impression that you’re not… well. A guy.”

Several thousand platform stilettos start to rain down on Magnus’s balcony.

“Alexander,” he says slowly, tightening his arms slightly around the other man’s neck. “It’s not too late for us to run away, you know. I hear England is lovely this time of year, and it has the benefit of being on the other side of the world.” Alec snorts and drops his head into the crook of Magnus’s neck with a groan.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, a little muffled; he hums appreciatively when Magnus starts carding his fingers through the short, soft hairs at Alec’s nape. “She’s kind of a force of nature.”

“So I’ve heard,” Magnus says thoughtfully. The thing is, he isn’t _opposed_ to meeting Alec’s parents, per se. It’s not like he and Alec are just fucking around; Alec has a side of the bed, a wonky, Izzy-made mug in the cupboard for his morning coffee, and has lodged himself quite firmly into Magnus’s heart without a second thought. They haven’t said ‘I love you’ yet, but it’s there all the time, and it’s getting harder with every passing day _not_ to breathe those words into the scant space between them.

So, no; Magnus is actually fine with the ‘meeting the parents’ thing. It’s more the fact that, realistically, Alec’s mother is going to be opposed to meeting _Magnus._ He is a man, which is clearly already going to be a hurdle, and he won’t even go to the bodega on the corner without eyeliner; he’s not going in less than his full armour for a family dinner. Maryse and Robert Lightwood are going to be subjected to Magnus at his _most Magnus_. Catarina once described him as the driving force behind the body glitter industry.

But… Alexander deserves this from him. This is his first relationship (and, if Magnus has any say in the matter, his last), and awkwardly introducing your sparkly boyfriend to your conservative parents is surely a rite of passage.

That decided, he presses a quick kiss to the side of Alec’s head and loosens his arms slightly, stepping back to allow some space between them. Alec moves his face from Magnus’s neck and - _God_. He just looks so _resigned_. He thinks Magnus is going to say no; as though he wouldn’t step into oncoming traffic for this tragically unfashionable man just to lift a single gram of weight from his world-weary shoulders.

“So, when’s the dinner? I have to plan an appropriate outfit, gird my loins, and interrogate both you and your sister about your parents’ wine preferences so I can choose a suitable gift. I’d say I’ll write an itinerary and itemised checklist, but I don’t want you getting distracted by how sexy you find my unexpected periods of organisation.” Alec looks completely nonplussed.

“Saturday. Four o’clock. Sorry, you’re… You’re _okay_ with this?” he asks slowly, eyebrows making a valiant effort to disappear into his hairline. Magnus shrugs, attempting nonchalance.

“Unless _you_ think it’s a bad idea.” Alec stares at him for a few beats, face unreadable, before very slowly leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to his mouth. 

“You’re incredible,” he says firmly, and Magnus has never been more glad for the genetics which make it almost impossible for him to blush. He has a carefully crafted reputation to maintain, after all; he can’t just go around blushing every time a handsome man compliments him. He’d be perpetually flushed. While Magnus is mentally congratulating himself on keeping his cool, Alec grabs his hand and tows him towards the bedroom with single-minded determination.

“This is because of the itinerary thing, isn’t it?” Magnus asks seriously as he’s pulled through the open door, finding himself immediately pushed up against it once it’s closed behind them. He never should have admitted how much that got him going, but he supposes he shouldn’t argue with the results.

“Sure,” Alec says amicably, pulling back briefly to strip his own shirt off before sliding his hands up Magnus’s neck to cup his face. “Let’s go with that.”

“I bet spreadsheets really get your blood pumping, don’t they?” Magnus says breathlessly before his mouth becomes otherwise occupied. It’s a slow kiss, all firm pressure and lazy heat, and it very quickly has him gripping somewhat violently at Alec’s shoulders for something to hold onto. Alec’s just _too good_ at this. He kisses with a delectable, sharp focus that makes Magnus dizzy, and the first press of teeth against his lower lip has his mouth opening on a gasp. Alec takes it as the invitation it so _very_ much is.

It takes embarrassingly few minutes for Magnus to get restless, but pretty much everything about Alexander - since the moment he barged through the front door - has been doing it for him. Indignant fury, much like everything else, is an incredibly good look on his boyfriend. 

“I’ve been undressed faster by my elderly tailor,” Magnus eventually complains when he realises his shirt is still mostly buttoned; the only nakedness between them is Alec’s chest and, while it is decidedly lovely, they can certainly do better. He can practically feel the eye roll as Alec leans down to bite pointedly at the juncture between Magnus’s neck and shoulder, which isn’t exactly a punishment.

“You _are_ your tailor,” Alec mutters into his neck, biting down again and sucking a little angrily at the skin until Magnus bucks against him.

“And here I am,” Magnus says, thunking his head back into the door with a groan. “Ageing as we speak. If we don’t start soon your virginity might grow back. _My_ virginity might grow back.”

“You are such a piece of work,” Alec says darkly, and he pulls back far enough to get both of his hands on Magnus’s shirt so he can just… rip it open. Buttons skitter off into various corners of the room, the discordant clattering the only sound aside from their own laboured breaths. Magnus is now _unspeakably_ horny. He might actually have moved _past_ horny and into a hitherto undiscovered realm in which his body is made of nothing but the thump of his own heartbeat and the erratic stutter of his own pulse.

After that, everything speeds up considerably.

They’ve fucked pretty much everywhere in the apartment by this point so there is, blessedly, lube within easy reach. This is good, because Magnus isn’t sure his legs would support him for long enough to reach the bed. Also, because he really wants Alec to fuck him against this door. Alec lifts him easily, and it’s like that first day all over again, only better because there’s nothing between them this time but heat; just miles of bare skin, sure fingers pressing into him and making him gasp.

He’s too wound up for much, can’t take anything more than two fingers before he’s about ready to come apart. His fingernails leave dark, probably painful marks in the skin of Alexander’s back, but he doesn’t say anything - just pants against Magnus’s neck and uses his weight to pin him in place as he opens him up with slick, sure movements.

“Come _on_ ,” Magnus begs, throat dry, and the noise Alec makes against his neck is about as broken and desperate as Magnus feels right now.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Alec says roughly, adding a third finger and twisting slightly in a way that has Magnus’s spine arching. If it gets much better than this he’s probably going to cry.

“Now, please, for the love of-” Magnus’s begging seems to break whatever control Alec had been clinging onto, because less than thirty seconds later his fingers are replaced by his cock and the hard press of it inside him has Magnus swearing hotly and gasping. He’s suddenly so glad Alec didn’t rush because it is a _lot_ in this position, and he feels achingly full but also somehow like he needs more of it, right now, immediately.

“God, _Magnus_ ,” Alec says with a choked off moan, leaning in to slide their mouths together as he starts to move. Magnus clings to him, kissing back with tongue and teeth and frighteningly little finesse, thighs straining as he works himself back against every sinuous grind of Alec’s hips. He’s unravelling already, holding back a desperate litany of ‘I love you’s and words he’s sure would reveal more of himself than Alec’s ready to know. He wants to kiss confessions into the damp skin of Alec’s neck, breathe them into his body and have them pushed back into his. He wants and wants and _wants_.

“Fuck - darling, please tell me you’re close, I can’t-” Magnus whimpers, pushing his heels into the small of Alec’s back in a silent, urgent prayer to do _more_. He can’t go much longer like this, he thinks; can’t stay sane here on the brink with so much heat skimming the surface of his skin, threatening to burn him up. He feels stretched thin and ephemeral, syrupy and wrung out. He presses his mouth to Alec’s throat just for something to ground him, tastes _him_ under clean sweat and the rasp of stubble. It both helps and makes things much worse.

 _“With you,”_ Alec grits out, and Magnus doesn’t need anything but that to tip him over the edge. It’s all cracked earth and dry heat and he shakes like he’s coming apart at the seams. He hears Alec cry out and feels teeth sinking into his shoulder, which whites out his vision for a couple of seconds; he vaguely feels himself being pulled down to the floor, Alec still in and around him as they sink into the carpet. 

He comes back to himself eventually, sprawled across Alec’s chest, both of them breathing hard. Alexander’s hands are moving soothingly up and down his back and Magnus melts a little further into the touch, making a pleased noise in the back of his throat, which - actually, it hurts a bit. He’s not sure what he was saying - or screaming - as he came but it’s possible he needs some water. And a very long nap.

Also, Alec is very much still _inside_ _him_ and while it is nicer than he’d care to admit out loud, they should probably _disengage_. And maybe shower.

“‘M gonna move now,” Alec says softly from beneath him, and Magnus says something concise like “mm”, which he hopes is enough. Clearly the message comes across loud and clear because Alec very carefully pulls out then manhandles Magnus to the floor so they’re lying side by side on the carpet. They stay close, Alexander’s arm slung around his waist, fingers tucked just slightly under his ribcage as though to keep Magnus in place. 

“Shower?” Magnus eventually manages to ask from the circle of Alec’s arms, and the long sigh he gets in response is immediately relatable. _‘Yes, but moving again seems like a cruel and unusual punishment,’_ the sigh says, and Magnus feels that on a molecular level. “Mm,” he agrees, then pushes his face into Alec’s chest and just lets go for a little while.

By the time they get to the shower, Alec is grimacing slightly at the come drying on his stomach, and Magnus feels five minutes from passing out into a deep and endless sleep. They manage it though, and Alec then spends a great deal of time convincing Magnus that his ‘deep and endless sleep’ plan is terrible.

“It’s not even 8pm,” he says calmly, arms wrapped tightly around Magnus’s waist to stop him from flopping face down onto the bed. “You haven’t had dinner yet and I _know_ you probably had like, a stale taco for lunch because that’s just how you _get_ when you fall down a design hole.” Magnus hates that he’s right.

“I hate that you’re right,” he tells him, because there’s no use thinking these things then not letting the other person know. “Stop being reasonable. It’s unbecoming.” Alec rolls his eyes.

“There’s stuff in the fridge for pasta. I will make it for you. Literally all you have to do is sit on the couch in a bathrobe and eat when you’re told to. Can you do that?”

“You’re such a _teacher_ sometimes,” Magnus groans, but he knows he sounds fondly defeated; Alec just smiles in response and herds him into the living room, depositing him on the sofa with a “ _stay_ ” and a firm glare before he moves to the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later, Magnus dutifully eats his pasta under Alexander’s watchful eye; it’s something with tomatoes and parmesan, simple but tasty, and Magnus only realises how hungry he must have been once he’s finished the whole bowl. Alec looks quietly pleased with himself when he takes away the dirty crockery, and Magnus _loves him_. 

“Have I passed all your tests now?” he calls through to the kitchen, instead of yelling something stupid and honest like ‘I love you, please never leave’.

“Eating is not a test,” Alec responds drily as he comes back into view, wiping his hands on a dishtowel. “ _You_ on the other hand…” There is something profoundly domestic about being lovingly insulted by his boyfriend as he throws a cloth over his shoulder like some kind of sexy Italian chef.

“I am a gift,” Magnus says with a yawn that makes his jaw crack. “Can I sleep now, my liege? I promise I’ll try to wake up again eventually, as tempting as the words ‘deep’ and ‘endless’ may be to me at this time.”

“In half an hour,” Alec allows, sliding into place on the couch next to Magnus and throwing an arm around him. “We can watch that weird British sewing thing you like.”

“You are a harsh taskmaster,” Magnus says gravely.

“If you try to lie down now, you’ll get indigestion. Then you’ll complain about it, and I’ll have to smother you with a pillow.”

“Very reasonable,” Magnus concedes.

➸

The day of the Lightwood family dinner dawns bright and sunny; birds are singing from places unknown; Chairman Meow is basking in a patch of sunlight in the living room, and Magnus is pressing his boyfriend down into the tangle of silk sheets for a slow, lazy kiss.

“S’time?” Alec asks eventually, voice low and rough as he pulls Magnus closer against him to nose at the soft skin under his ear. Magnus shivers and hums, angling his head so Alec has better access.

“Eight? Nine? Early. We’ve got loads of time.” He doesn’t actually know if that’s true - he hasn’t checked. He’s literally just throwing random numbers at Alec in the hopes that he’ll stop talking and focus his attention on the hyper-sensitive skin of Magnus’s neck. Just for a little while - maybe an hour or so. He’s a very reasonable man.

“Liar,” Alec says fondly, but he takes the hint and presses a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the base of Magnus’s throat, right over his Adam’s apple. The slight scrape of teeth that follows is _very_ promising, but unfortunately Alexander’s phone takes this as a sign that it must begin ringing. Loudly. It is both insistent and unwelcome, but the frustrated groan Alec makes before he reaches for it is of some comfort.

“Yes?” he says tersely, voice still rough from early-morning disuse. Magnus rolls off him somewhat reluctantly, but he supposes it would probably be unkind of him to start taking things further while Alexander is attempting to speak to, presumably, Isabelle.

“Izzy, we’re seeing you in like seven hours,” Alec’s saying impatiently, running a hand over his face in frustration. “This couldn’t wait till then?” There’s the distinct sound of laughter on the other end of the line, and Alec goes a little red. “I didn’t _say_ you interrupted anything,” he says hotly. “I just think I’m allowed a lie-in on the day I quite possibly get disinherited by our parents.” The laughter subsides, and Magnus tangles his fingers with those of his boyfriend’s free hand and squeezes. Alec squeezes back.

The conversation doesn’t last long, but Alexander’s shoulders are tight with tension by the time he’s saying “yeah I get it - see you later. It’s fine. I love you too. Go away” and hanging up the phone. He turns to Magnus with a grimace.

“Izzy’s got some lab results she has to collect around 4ish, so she’ll be late for dinner,” he explains. “Jace doesn’t shut the shop until 4.30, so I’m the only one who doesn’t have an excuse to turn up on time.”

“That’s not true,” Magnus says mildly. “I don’t have an excuse either. Although I suppose I could always break up with you and run away to Santa Monica in a pinch.” It’s a joke (because of _course_ it is – wild horses couldn’t drag him away from this man) but Alec goes still, eyes skittering away to stare fixedly at something over Magnus’s shoulder.

“I understand if you’ve changed your mind-”

“Alexander,” Magnus tries to interrupt him, but Alec just keeps on going like he hasn’t heard him.

“My parents are a lot to deal with, and I’m just- I’m probably not worth it. At all.”

“ _Alexander_ , that is the stupidest thing you’ve ever said,” Magnus says flatly. “And you once mispronounced Louis Vuitton so badly that Siri thought you were asking about Lewis Hamilton.” Alec meets his eyes, and he has the decency to look embarrassed. _Good_. “If the cost of being with you was having to buy my clothes solely from Target for the rest of my natural life, it is a price I would willingly pay. Having an awkward dinner with your parents is _nothing_. Also, I don’t know if you’d noticed, but I am _incredibly_ charming.” Alec snorts.

“You’re _something_ ,” he mumbles combatively, but he’s fighting back a small, pleased grin. Magnus shamelessly presses his advantage.

“I’m a grown man, and so are you, which means if everything goes tits-up, we can just leave - with the added bonus of being able to make out in the back of a taxi on the way to _our home_.” Alec’s eyes go a little unfocused at that, because he’s a giant sap who gets off on the domesticity of their living arrangements. “I apologise for joking in a way that clearly gave you the wrong idea, and I won’t do it again, but allow me to be slightly chagrined that you thought I would give you up so easily.” Alec is chewing on his lip, looking suitably contrite.

“You’re right,” he says eventually, and Magnus lets himself relax a little further into the mattress.

“It happens occasionally,” he replies modestly. Alec laughs, and just like that the sun is out again.

➸

They’re nearly late to dinner for two reasons.

The first is that Alexander sees Magnus selecting a black shirt to wear, and almost has a fucking _conniption._

“What is that.” He doesn’t bother with anything so formal as a question mark, arms folded across his chest in a way that would be pretty intimidating if he wasn’t shirtless, hair still damp from the shower. Instead, he just looks distracting. And annoyed.

“I know fashion isn’t really your area of expertise, darling, but this is a _shirt_.” Alec rolls his eyes but doesn’t rise to the bait.

“It’s black. I didn’t even know you _owned_ anything black.” It’s true that Magnus doesn’t wear it often, but he does _like_ black. He doesn’t wear it like Alexander does, as though it’s the only option available to him, but he looks good in it and he’s all for anything that makes him look good.

“Well, now you know,” Magnus says with a smile, and he turns back to take the shirt off its hanger when he’s stopped by a hand over his.

“Please don’t tell me you’re toning yourself down for my parents,” Alec says with a sigh, and Magnus feels himself deflate slightly.

“Would that be such a bad thing for our first meeting?” he asks quietly, raising his eyebrows at Alec - who looks absolutely horrified.

“Yes, Magnus, it would be a _bad thing_ ,” he hisses, shoving the shirt back into the closet with a clatter and pulling Magnus bodily away from the open doors. “I like you the way you are. They’ll like you the way you are too, or they can take a walk.” The intensity in Alec’s eyes makes Magnus hot all over and he finds himself gripping Alec’s shoulders to keep his balance.

“You’re actually very good with words - has anyone ever told you that, darling?” Alec throws him a lopsided smile.

“My 9th grade English teacher.”

Magnus ends up opting for a rich purple shirt with a low-cut, open collar, along with a pair of black slacks and a set of pale grey suspenders. He’s added a little purple to the tips of his hair too, just for kicks, and he knows he feels better now than he would have if he’d been wearing black. Magnus Bane wasn’t made to tone himself down.

The second thing that nearly makes them late is related to exactly how much Alec seems to like his outfit.

“We don’t have time for this,” Alec groans, like he’s not the one undoing Magnus’s pants right now, the absolute _terror_.

“I already _said that_ ,” Magnus says breathlessly as Alec drops to his knees. “But _oh-_ ”

Alec has to change his shirt.

They get there at 3.59pm.

➸

“Worst-case scenario is getting the door slammed in our faces,” Alec murmurs distractedly as he rings the doorbell. “And then me getting disowned. But that’s fine, I can-” Magnus takes his hand and squeezes, and Alec takes a deep breath before squeezing back.

Then the door opens, and it’s time to face the music.

“Alec! You’re right on time.” This must be Maryse Lightwood, Magnus thinks; she looks startlingly like Isabelle, sharply beautiful even in what must be her mid-40s. Her smile becomes markedly less pronounced as her eyes flick between her son and Magnus, and then down to their joined hands; as it slides off her face, Magnus can’t help but think she looks much less like her daughter without it.

“Mom,” Alec greets her calmly. “This is Magnus. My boyfriend.”

She stares at him for a few beats, her dark eyes completely unreadable. Then, to Magnus’s complete and total surprise, she smiles widely at them both, the resemblance to Isabelle restored in full technicolour. She steps out onto the front porch and after a moment’s hesitation, wraps both of them in a firm hug. She’s quite a lot shorter than them, which means Magnus can easily throw a _‘what is happening’_ look at Alec over the top of her head. Alec’s face clearly suggests he has no fucking idea.

“Delighted to meet you, Magnus,” she says warmly when she pulls away. “It looks like I have a lot to catch up on!” 

“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs Lightwood,” Magnus says, still fairly smoothly even with the cloud of utter confusion he is likely to be functioning in for at least the next ten minutes. “Thank you so much for inviting me.” He hands her a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon he’d been reliably informed was a family favourite, which she takes with effusive thanks.

“You shouldn’t have, Magnus. And please, call me Maryse,” she insists, and then she moves back inside the house, motioning for them to follow. They do so, because what other option do they have, but Alec looks completely lost.

As they’re led through to the dining room, Magnus leans over and whispers “was this the best-case scenario?”

“Best-case scenario was cold silence and us leaving early,” Alec responds in a daze.

Of course, then Magnus is introduced to Robert Lightwood, and things get marginally more complicated again. He’s waiting for them in the dining room with a young boy Magnus presumes to be Max, and while the latter looks absolutely _delighted_ to see Alec, Robert is significantly more reserved. Almost coldly so.

“Alec!” Max runs forward and Magnus is treated to the sight of one of Alexander’s full smiles, his eyes lighting up as he ducks down to embrace his younger brother.

“Hey, Max,” he says fondly, ruffling his hair as he pulls away and stands again. He’s still grinning, and Magnus’s heart clenches almost painfully in his chest. It hurts a little differently when Alec looks up and meets his father’s eyes, his smile notably dimming.

“Hi dad,” he says with a nod, and Robert steps forward to shake his son’s hand - like that’s how you greet your kids in their childhood home.

“Alec. I see you’ve brought a friend to dinner,” Robert says with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes, letting go of Alec’s hand and turning to offer a handshake to Magnus. He takes it, because he’s not sure he has much of a choice, but it is blessedly brief. Magnus feels the sudden desire to wash his hands.

“This is Magnus,” Alec says, voice going a little sharp, even as his face remains remarkably calm. “My boyfriend.” The silence that follows that statement is almost painful and, while Magnus absolutely _longs_ to fill it, he’s not sure his usual repartee would be welcome right now. Even though he is, as he’s already pointed out to Alec, a very charming person.

Robert’s eyebrows are making a bid for his hairline, which is impressive given how far back his remaining hair begins on his head. “How long has this been going on?” he eventually asks, voice perfectly level.

“Alec recently informed me had a partner,” Maryse answers for him, her voice pointedly pleasant even as she violently jams a corkscrew into the bottle of wine Magnus handed to her a few moments ago. “He’s here as a guest, and I for one am _delighted_ to have the opportunity to get to know him.” Magnus could _kiss_ her. 

He’s also inordinately grateful that they all seem to be ignoring exactly _how_ Maryse found out that Alec had a partner.

“Max, honey, can you call your sister to see if she’s on her way from the lab?” Max nods at his mother, looking insanely grateful to be able to escape the tension as he dashes out into the hallway.

“Let me get that, mom,” Alec says with a small smile, taking the bottle and corkscrew away from her and opening it with a few twists of his hand. Magnus distinctly hears Maryse say the words _“we’re going to need a couple more bottles,”_ sotto voce, and he couldn’t agree more. Robert has disappeared from the room as well and, while Magnus would usually be slightly worried that he’s about to get a very literal shotgun talk, he’s mostly just relieved at the man’s absence.

“Now, Magnus,” Maryse says brightly as Alec hands him a glass of wine. “How did you two meet?”

“Alexander was dragged backstage to one of my shows when Isabelle gallantly replaced a runaway model of mine,” Magnus says with a smile, remembering just how uncomfortable Alec had looked surrounded by… well, everything. “We became friends and then-” He waves a hand vaguely. “The rest, as they say, is history.” Maryse is looking at him with a look of dawning realisation; Magnus sincerely hopes this has nothing to do with ‘Alec’s de-virginising sex marathon’.

“You’re Magnus _Bane_ ,” Maryse says somewhat reverently. And okay, this… _This_ , Magnus can deal with.

“In the flesh,” he replies warmly, smile widening when Maryse clutches a hand to her chest for a brief moment. “Am I to take it you’ve heard of me?” Alec’s mother scoffs.

“After Isabelle did her first show with you, I’ll admit I became a little obsessed with your work,” she says, looking faintly embarrassed. She leans forward conspiratorially and says in a low voice, “I have two originals. Robert has absolutely no idea.” Magnus laughs at that - his work is _not_ cheap - and Maryse giggles, the sound making her even younger somehow.

“Well, there goes my inheritance,” Alec says faintly, but he smiles when Magnus glances over at him, and there’s something in the way he’s holding himself that says he’s so far past confused that he’s just rolling with it. Magnus knows the feeling.

“Those dresses _are_ your inheritance,” Maryse says with another laugh - then the doorbell goes, and she excuses herself to answer it, taking her glass of wine with her. Magnus _really_ likes her.

“This is surreal,” Alec murmurs as she leaves the room, gravitating towards Magnus and placing a hand on his waist. “She’s being so reasonable. And you’re _flirting_ with her,” he says, sounding more amused than anything.

“As stunning a woman as your mother is, I much prefer her oldest son,” Magnus says with a grin. The smile he gets back is reproachful but good-humoured, and he immediately leans in to kiss it off Alec’s face.

“Easy,” Alec murmurs against his mouth, pulling back after far too short a time; Magnus is pleased to see he looks at least a little bit annoyed about having to do so. “If Izzy catches us, I’ll never hear the end of it.” 

“Gross,” says a voice from the doorway, and they both turn to see Max wrinkling his nose at Alec. “You were always the one I could count on _not_ to be doing gross kissing stuff all the time, urgh.” Alec grins at his brother but doesn't actually move away from Magnus.

“You’ve had it easy the last few years, Maxie. I’ve got a lot of time to make up for - Jace and Izzy had a head start on me.” Max frowns harder.

“But you’re _older_ than them,” he argues. “Haven’t you, like, gotten it out of your system by now?” Magnus tries very hard not to laugh at that; he only manages to hold it back because the thought of explaining to a 10-year-old that his big brother was so far in the closet he only had his first kiss a few months ago is untenable.

Fortunately, the heat is taken off them entirely when Maryse comes back into the room with Izzy, and Jace in tow; Clary is absent, but Magnus does vaguely recall Alec mentioning something about her mother’s birthday. It’s not 4.30 yet, so he is surprised to see Jace, however.

“Closed up early,” Jace says at Alec’s equally confused expression, leaning in for a back slapping hug. “Thought you could use the backup,” he continues, a little quieter, and Magnus is abruptly reminded of just how close these boys are.

“Thanks, Jace,” Alec says, eyes serious as he grips his brother’s shoulder. Jace grins and Magnus supposes he can see how some people could be charmed by it - provided they weren’t standing anywhere near Alexander at the time. Jace spots the wine on the table and brightens further.

“Nice.” He looks at Magnus with raised eyebrows. “Your doing? That’s a nice vintage.” Magnus tries not to be surprised by Jace knowing anything at all about wine, but the grin on the blonde’s face tells him he’s doing a poor job of it.

“What kind of guest would I be otherwise?” Jace nods appreciatively and immediately sweeps in to grab himself a glass.

“Hey, big brother,” Izzy says with a grin, reaching up to give him a peck on the cheek, greeting Magnus the same way.

“Doctor Lightwood, you look radiant as ever,” Magnus says, returning her smile. “Have they appointed you head of the pathology department yet?” She laughs at the suggestion before launching into a story about how she got her tutor fired for inappropriate behaviour the second she was awarded her doctorate; Alec and Jace gravitate towards Maryse and Max, and by the time five o’clock rolls around, they’re on the third bottle of wine and Robert has yet to make another appearance.

“I’ll see where your father’s wandered off to,” Maryse says with a sigh, excusing herself from the table and disappearing a moment later. Jace and Isabelle _immediately_ turn to Magnus and Alec with such enthusiasm Magnus is vaguely surprised they don’t fly across the surface of the table.

“Okay, how is mom now best friends with Magnus?” Isabelle asks in a low whisper. “It’s like she’s a completely different person.”

“It turns out your mother’s a fan,” Magnus says mildly, and he practically _feels_ the eye roll from the man beside him.

“That came out later,” Alec says, shaking his head. “I just… told her Magnus was my boyfriend. And she was completely fine with it.” He pauses with a grimace. “Dad was weird about it though.”

“Weird how?” Jace asks sharply, and Magnus is struck with a pang of fondness for him. There is every possibility that he would throw down against anyone who tried to do Alec wrong, even his own adoptive father. Alec shrugs.

“He literally just asked how long ‘this’ had been going on, then mom kind of politely chewed him out for it and he left.”

“He’s probably talking to his girlfriend,” Max says a little viciously from the other end of the table. All four adults turn to stare at him in horrified unison.

“Max, what are you talking about?” Isabelle asks slowly. Carefully. Magnus knows she’s always been more Robert Lightwood’s little girl than Maryse’s, but he suddenly suspects she knows more than she’s letting on.

“Annamarie,” Max says with a shrug, sitting back in his chair a bit uncomfortably now all eyes are on him. “I heard mom and dad arguing about her.” There’s silence for a moment before Jace grunts.

“Son of a _bitch_.”

“Jace!” Alec reprimands, eyes flicking between his two brothers with mounting horror. It’s like he doesn’t know which part of this conversation to focus on, because they’re all so terrible.

“I know what swear words are,” Max says a little petulantly. “Izzy taught me loads at Christmas.”

“I cannot believe you people,” Alec says flatly, and Magnus feels helpless, horribly inappropriate laughter bubbling up inside him.

“I’d rather he hears them from me,” Isabelle says primly, and then Jace is snorting and Magnus just _breaks_. He can feel Alec shaking with suppressed laughter beside him, and Isabelle’s hiccupping giggles are audible from behind her curtain of dark hair. Max and Jace both have ugly, snorting laughs, and that just makes Magnus all the more hysterical.

They’ve only just managed to pull themselves together when Maryse and Robert return to the dining room, and Magnus is abruptly sobered up by the thought of what started them on this road to begin with. He senses from the sudden tension around him that the Lightwood children are thinking along much the same lines.

“Well,” Maryse says a little tightly as Robert takes his seat. “Now we’re all here, I’ll bring dinner through.” Alec stands up immediately and offers to help, and she accepts with a smile, some of the weight falling from her shoulders. When they come back through from the kitchen a few moments later, Alec is carrying an obscenely large, covered pot in both hands, Maryse following with two baskets of crusty bread; she also has another bottle of wine tucked under her arm, which is perhaps warranted.

“Mom’s specialty,” Alec says as he puts the pot down in the middle of the table and removes the lid. “Cocido montañés.” It seems to essentially be a stew, and it smells absolutely divine; Magnus happily accepts a large helping and some bread, waiting patiently for everyone to be served before he gives in and starts eating.

“Maryse, this is incredible,” he says honestly after the first mouthful. “Does Alec have the recipe?” He turns to Alec. “Do you have the recipe? I may never eat anything else ever again.” Magnus studiously ignores the minor coughing fit this provokes in Isabelle, keeping his eyes trained on Alexander, who huffs out a laugh.

“If you could go a week without ordering Tom Yum, I’d know it by now,” he says ruefully. “But yeah, I have the recipe. It won’t be as good as mom’s but I’m not terrible at it.” Maryse smiles at them both across the table.

“He’s too modest,” she says fondly.

“I’ve noticed that,” Magnus says with a smile, which is about when Robert decides to break his apparent vow of silence.

“I’m still not sure why anyone thought this was appropriate for a family dinner,” Robert says coolly, and Magnus feels Alec stiffen beside him. ‘This’ is obviously code for either ‘bringing your flamboyant boyfriend along’ or ‘admitting you’re gay rather than living a lie’. It’s a toss-up.

“ _Robert_ ,” Maryse hisses, but he ignores her, looking straight at Alec.

“I’m trying to understand this-” Magnus resists the urge to scoff disbelievingly, because he is an _adult_ \- “but I’m not sure I can. You’ve got a career, good prospects. You could be putting that in jeopardy, Alec. Why?”

“Because I’m in love with him,” Alec says simply, putting down his cutlery and glaring furiously at his father. “And last time I checked, we had anti-discrimination legislation in New York, so that has absolutely _nothing_ to do with my career. Or my prospects.”

Magnus _stares_ at Alexander.

“You know that won’t stop some people,” Robert says, unfazed, completely oblivious to the absolute _bombshell_ that’s just been dropped on his unexpected guest. “And the Lightwood name-”

“Yes, I’m sure you care _so much_ about the Lightwood name,” Alec interrupts sarcastically, then stands up from his seat. “I don’t have to stay here and listen to this. Magnus-”

“No,” Maryse says firmly, and Alec turns to her immediately. She twists in her seat and narrows her eyes at Robert. “Your father can go, if he can’t keep a civil tongue in his head.”

“Maryse-”

“Don’t,” she says sharply. “I’m sure you have some paperwork to finish up in your office if you look hard enough. Take your dinner with you.” Robert stares back at her for a moment, then clearly decides this is not an argument he’s going to win.

He leaves his dinner at the table and retreats from the room without a backward glance. Magnus stands before Alec can slide back into his seat, grabbing his hand.

“Maryse, if I may borrow your oldest son for just a moment?” She looks at him with evident surprise, but nods. “Thank you. We’ll only be a few minutes.” Then he gently but firmly pulls Alec out of the room and down the hall.

“Magnus-”

“Why are there so many _rooms_?” he interrupts, stopping and staring at the multitudinous doors lining the hallway. He turns to Alec, who looks adorably confused. “Which of these is best for a private conversation?” Wordlessly, Alec points to one on their left, and without further prompting Magnus pulls them both into it, shutting the door behind them. He doesn’t bother with a light; there’s still a reasonable amount of daylight streaming through the windows - and besides, he has no idea where the light switch is.

“Magnus, are you okay? Sorry about all that back there, I had no idea-”

“I’m in love with you too,” Magnus interrupts him, hands settling either side of Alec’s horribly perfect face, fingers gently curling around his jaw. “I didn’t know if you were ready to hear it, but apparently I waited too long and let you get the drop on me. I _hate_ that.” The confusion on Alexander’s face lifts, and the embarrassed pleasure that replaces it is breathtaking.

“I wasn’t planning on doing it like that,” he admits. Magnus pulls him down into a short, hard kiss, which is only slightly hindered by the fact that they’re both grinning like idiots.

“Which part?” Magnus teases as he pulls back. Alec snorts.

“There were going to be a lot fewer family members,” he says easily, then grins. “And less clothing.” Magnus laughs delightedly at his candour, and pulls him immediately back in for another, slightly more successful, kiss.

Alexander Lightwood is going to thoroughly ruin him; Magnus can’t find it in himself to mind very much.

➸

The rest of the dinner is actually quite lovely. With the dark cloud of their father’s presence no longer looming over them, the Lightwoods talk and laugh more easily. They ignore the elephant in the room that is Robert’s apparent infidelity, drink a lot of Cabernet Sauvignon and Rioja, and Magnus is let loose on a cocktail shaker with impunity. Max is allowed to try a small sip of wine, and he makes a very passable attempt at pretending he doesn’t think it’s vile. Magnus leaves with a standing dinner invitation, which was so low down the list of his expectations for the evening that he’d have had to lie on the ground to read it.

Even though the evening went well, he and Alexander make out in the back of the taxi anyway, and by the time they get back to the apartment Magnus is flushed and utterly stupid with want. There’s no finesse to their movements; Alec almost brains himself on the side table when he trips over his own jeans, and Magnus steps on one of the buttons they lost sight of on Thursday after the shirt-ripping adventure.

It’s all a means to an end though, and any hurt egos or body parts are quickly soothed when they press together on the bed, skin to skin everywhere they can touch.

“I love you,” Magnus says against Alec’s mouth, murmuring it again and again into the skin of his throat and the muscles of his stomach. He slides his hands up Alec’s thighs and leans forward to take the head of Alec’s cock into his mouth. The reaction is instantaneous; a breathy moan, a hand in Magnus’s hair, a tremor radiating outwards from the base of Alec’s spine. He stays there a while, enjoying the weight of Alexander against his tongue and the slow but inexorable loss of control in the movement of his hips.

“Magnus, will you just get up here,” Alec gasps, dragging him up the bed and into a kiss without waiting for an answer, hands moving from Magnus’s shoulders to his hips to pull their bodies closer together. Alec licks into his mouth when it opens on a surprised groan, and Magnus doesn’t know how he ever lived without this, if he was ever really living at all.

They move together like that, too wound up and tipsy to do anything more than kiss and rut against each other like teenagers. Alec comes first, gasping into Magnus’s shoulder, and Magnus only lasts through a few more fitful thrusts before he follows suit. It’s quick, messy, and absolutely glorious.

They lay side by side, breath slowing and bodies cooling in the silence of the room. Distantly, Magnus hears the Chairman scratching at something he probably shouldn’t be scratching at. There’s a weird humming quality to the heating that’s started to kick in on the cooler September evenings. None of it matters much right now.

“I love you,” Alec says quietly, and a thrill goes up Magnus’s spine at the sound of those words in Alec’s mouth.

“I love _you_ ,” he replies, and finds he likes the words just as much on his own tongue. Alec grins at him, eyes dropping closed on a hum of approval.

“Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.” Magnus knows the feeling.

Soon, they’ll clean up. They’ll go to sleep wrapped up together. Tomorrow, Magnus will probably wake up to the smell of coffee; there’s the distinct possibility of waffles, since Alec went grocery shopping on Friday. On Monday, Magnus will sleep through Alec’s hideously early alarm, waking up briefly to the kiss Alec will no doubt drop on his head on his way out the door to work. Alec will finally meet Cat, Ragnor, and Raphael at some nebulous future date; they will rip him to shreds and his Alexander will rise marvellously to the occasion, because that’s what he does. They will live and love imperfectly, one day at a time. It will be, if not easy, then worth the bits that make it less so.

As sleep tries to drag him under, Magnus thinks - _yes._ They know the basics. Everything else is just window dressing.

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus wept - this turned into a right beast of a fic. It's all about the yearning, am I right? Thank you to tintagel for listening to me yammering on about this even though you hadn't even watched the show. And also thanks for letting me badger you into _actually_ watching it. Also, I'm sorry.  
> And aussiebee, my angel. Happy Birthday! Thank you for proofing this. And indulging the use of my extensive Shadowhunters gif collection with grace and aplomb. The time difference did wonders for my late-night productivity, even if it was terrible for my sleep schedule.
> 
> This fic is my magnum opus. Who even cares if it's good? Not me! It's finished. (I care so much, sorry - I lied)
> 
> Magnus and Alec are my new favourites. I became obsessed with their relationship right from the word go; Magnus's face when Alec smoothly fells someone with an arrow then casually flips a dagger through the air to catch it again? It's a whole mood. We stan.
> 
> Spanish translations! My Spanish is rustier than a damp saw, but I gave it my best shot:  
>  _Mi hermana y yo nos vamos ahora_ – my sister and I are going now  
>  _Si, el español es una de las lenguas que hablo_ – yes, Spanish is one of the languages I speak  
>  _Mi madre me enseñó a hacer tapas cuando tenía diez años_ – my mother taught me to make tapas when I was ten years old  
>  _Lo siento_ – I’m sorry


End file.
